


Give Me A Reason

by siltoile



Series: Midnight Run (Male!Stiles) [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Aftercare, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst, BAMF Stiles, Blow Jobs, Canon Compliant, Confined/Caged, Emotional Manipulation, Emotionally Repressed, Hurt Stiles, M/M, Manipulative Stiles, Memory Alteration, Memory Loss, Multiple Universes Colliding, Oral Sex, Original Character Death(s), Original Character(s), Pack Dynamics, Parallel Universes, Protective Derek, Rape, Rape Recovery, Recreational Drug Use, Retribution, Revenge, Sex, Slow Build, Song Titles Used As Chapter Titles, Torture, Triggers, no happy ending, sterek, summer before season 3, you might be a little upset
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-21
Updated: 2014-01-01
Packaged: 2017-12-06 02:38:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 20
Words: 61,623
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/730620
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/siltoile/pseuds/siltoile
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The first time was a warning. The second time was for shits and giggles. The third time was for observation. The fourth time was for research.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Shoot It Out

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Not Broken Just Bent](https://archiveofourown.org/works/731195) by [siltoile](https://archiveofourown.org/users/siltoile/pseuds/siltoile). 



> I planned this at my FBLA state conference. Whoops!
> 
> Song for this chapter is Shoot It Out by 10 Years, mostly for the lines, "you're feeding the wolves."
> 
> Maila pronounced like My-la.

It was hot, unbearably hot, in Stiles' opinion, and it was the kind of hot that urged him to move as little as possible. He knew he had left the motel room window open before he passed out, much to his dad's protests, so he shouldn't have been so hot. It was summer, but surely the nights in California had never felt like a sauna, right?

Stiles considered trying to fix the problem, but his mind decided against that and tried to head back to dreamland. However, someone wasn't having that. He was doused in chilled water and his head was being pulled back to look at someone. "What the fuck!" Stiles shouted, water dripped in his eyes, and he would have said more, except he knew the person above him.

Gerard Argent: geriatric douchebag extraordinaire. But Stiles was pretty sure that he was left for dead in the Spring when Scott tricked him with mountain ash. What the hell was he doing there? Alive?

Stiles tried to maneuver his hands to choke the bastard, but, for the first time, he realized that his hands were tied to the sides of a collapsible, metal chair and his feet to the legs of it. He yanked and pulled, but to no avail, and Gerard just looked at him, lips pursed. "Untie me, you asshole!" The ropes chaffed on his skin and his muscles strained, "Where am I? How did you get me here?" he was in what looked like an empty, grimy, warehouse with orange lighting. There wasn't anything special about it except the fifteen foot tall, octagonal, chain-link fence surrounding him. "You probably can't lift more than your bran cereal in the morning anymo--." A calloused hand connected with his cheek, hard, and sent the taste of blood to his tongue from where his teeth bit into his cheek.

"Didn't you learn your lesson the last time?" Gerard sneered,"If I recall correctly, you were crying and spitting blood the last time you tried to put on a macho-man act, so drop it." He then twisted Stiles' head to up to face the ceiling, examining his throat "I suppose you want to know why I'm doing this," he pulled Stiles' head down to his chest and let go.

"Yeah," Stiles quipped, "that would be helpful in an assault charge."

Another hit, that time, to his stomach with Gerard's foot. "You should respect your elders, young man."

Stiles coughed, "My elders, not the decrepit." A kick landed to his oblique, "Motherfucker!"

Gerard tsked, "Now, now, there is no need for that kind of language." He stepped away from the teenager for a moment, Stiles tracked his every twitch with his eyes, "So, you're not a werewolf, yet you sympathize with them," He paused, looking contemplatively, "How revolting." He walked behind Stiles and rummaged around.

"Revolting? What I do is revolting? You kidnapped the sheriff's son and--" A PVC pipe landed against his thigh, "Son of a bitch!" How was accepting what his best friend was, because of Stiles, more revolting than brainwashing someone into killing off an entire family? The pipe struck again and again, in various places all over his clothed body. It, however, never landed on any place that had skin showing, nor did it land hard enough to do anything other than bruise and sting. With every hit, some curse word spilled out of Stiles mouth, helping him to cope with the pain and fuel his anger. Stiles swore that when he got loose, he would rip Gerard's throat out with his teeth, as Derek would say.

"How can a human sympathize with those monsters," Gerard asked calmly, his words punctuated by a blow somewhere on Stiles' body, "when they will destroy everything you've ever loved?"  
Stiles rasped out a laugh, "Like your daughter and daughter in law?" He knew he should have kept his mouth shut, but when he couldn't move to fight back, all he had were his words.  
Gerard kicked the chair over on its side and started kicking into Stiles' stomach, "You have no right to talk about my family like that!" Stiles had smacked his head on the ground pretty hard and his vision blurred a little before it went black somewhere between the tenth and twelfth kick.

\-----

Stiles shot up from the bed, his body protested, the sound of buzzing coming from the bathroom, "Dad?" His voice laced with panic, but why should it be? He was back at the motel he started at last night after he and his dad got into another small town in California. The window was still open, and his bag was lying on the floor. Everything was just as he left it last night.

His dad walked out of the bathroom, electric razor in hand, "Yeah, son? What's wrong?"

Stiles took in his dad's appearance, his combed hair, button down, plaid shirt, and jeans, and his half shaved face, "N-nothing. I-I just had a bad dream." He tried to smile through the pathetic lie, but ended up grimacing as he felt the pain along his stomach and thighs.

His dad squinted, "Do you want to talk about it?" Stiles shook his head, "You sure?" Stiles nodded affirmatively, "Well, then get up and get ready; we've got a big day ahead of us." He headed back to the bathroom to finish his shaving.

"We do?" Stiles gingerly pulled the covers aside and tried to inconspicuously do an inventory on his body through his pajamas. His dad hadn't said where they were going or why they were going somewhere the previous day. All he said was for him to pack a bag with enough for a few days and be in the car by six.

"We do." His voice sounding funny from the way his jaw was positioned so he could shave his neck, "We've got cousins to meet." The electric shaver stopped buzzing and the sheriff came out, seemingly finished with his morning routine.

Stiles stopped, mid-bend to retrieve his toiletries and a change of clothes, "Cousins? I thought we were here for some father-son bonding time. I don't remember anything about cousins." Then again, he never mentioned anything about cousins or father-son bonding time; Stiles just assumed that that was what the trip was all about.

The sheriff sighed, "We're here so that we can stop lying to each other and try to get back to what we once had before. . ."

Stiles got it, "Before Mom died." His throat clenched a little; he really didn't mean to destroy the relationship with his dad during the Year of the Werewolf Best Friend, but he had, and it made him feel like shit.

"Stiles--"

"No, Dad, it's okay! I get it! We're going to reunite with Mom's side of the family, get away from Beacon Hills for a few days, and make everything alright again, I swear." He crossed his heart and held out his hand. His dad just stared at him and Stiles took that opportunity to slip into the bathroom, "I'm commandeering this bathroom for a bit, thanks Dad!" His actions effectively cutting off their conversation.

His dad made a noise of protest, then a huff of laughter around the word 'commandeering', and he moved away from the door. Meanwhile, Stiles went to the bathroom, washed his hands, brushed his teeth, flossed, and did everything he could to stall looking at the damage he felt underneath his clothes.

A couple knocks on the door from his father stopped his stalling, "You gonna shower, kiddo?"

"Yeah Dad, yeah! Just, you know, checking out my rad body!" He could almost hear the eye roll coming from his father. Stiles didn't mean it, but he didn't need to add body insecurities to the ever growing list of things wrong with him for his father to stress over.

Stiles locked eyes with his reflection, and dragged his shirt over his head and his pants and boxers down his legs. He closed his eyes and then looked down at himself. Across his skin were angry, raised, red, welts from the pipe and triangle-like bruises from a shoe in his stomach. Down his thighs there was a lattice-work of welts. He traced light fingers over a few of them on his chest, they stung, and over the bruises, they throbbed a little. He counted fifteen stomach bruises and twenty-seven welts all across his body.

A voice in the back of his mind told him to tell his father, to buckle down and tell him everything. Everything about werewolves, Scott, Derek, the Argents, Peter, Lydia-- just everything. But a stronger voice told him that he couldn't drag his father into something like that. There was no way that Stiles would risk his father's career, again, and his life against supernatural beings and their corresponding hunters.

He steeled himself against that horrible thought and turned on the water. The spray was hot when he climbed in, simultaneously easing the tension in his back and irritating his wounds. Somehow, he managed to get his body cleaned with minimal wincing and pained breaths, and he managed to jerk off in the shower thinking about certain attractive people back home.

Climbing out of the tub, he delicately dried off and dressed. He hung the towel over the shower rod and headed back into the room. He found his dad rummaging through his bag, "Hey kiddo, took you long enough."

"I've gotta smell good for the family!"

The sheriff half-smiled, "Take your Adderall and we'll go get some breakfast."

Stiles grumbled, "It tastes like an overused skillet."

"You would know what that tastes like?"

"Home Economics was not the most riveting part of my day."

"Clearly," he pulled out his wallet, keys, phone, and sunglasses, "Swallow and go."

"That's what she said. Or he. Not here to judge." He was leveled with a look and he quickly downed his medicine, "Let's hit the road!" Stiles snatched his own wallet and cell phone as they headed out the door.

"What do you want for breakfast?" Stiles opened his mouth, but the sheriff cut him off with an amendment to his statement, "Something actually doable and edible." Stiles' mouth snapped shut and he shrugged, "IHOP it is."

Sitting at IHOP, Stiles regulated exactly what his father ordered, "I'll have the ham and cheese omelet with hash-browns, and he'll have plain scrambled eggs with a side of fruit," and by regulated, he meant he ordered _for_ his dad.

"Stiles."

He sighed, "Fine, scratch the omelet and hash-browns and make the second order times two, please."

The waitress tried to suppress her smile, "Will that be all?"

"Yep! Thanks!"

She walked off and his dad crossed his arms, pouting, " _Stiles_."

Stiles copied his father's motions, " _Dad_."

"What are you doing?"

"Making sure you eat right."

"I don't want scrambled eggs."

"You can always put some pepper on them, but no salt, and besides, they're good for you!"

"Stiles, you're trying to kill me."

"Just the opposite, dear father!"

After breakfast, they drove out to the country to a large house where, Stiles assumed, they would be meeting his cousins. It had been years since he saw his aunt and uncle, possible a decade or more, and he was a little nervous. If they hadn't sent cards announcing their kids' births, the Stilinski's would have never known that they had kids, and Stiles had never met any of them, "What if they don't like me?" Stiles asked, a little on edge.

"They are four, five, six, and twelve, how can they not like you?"

"I don't know! What if they think I'm some evil monster!"

His dad gave him a sideways glance, "They'll like you."

Turned out, they didn't just like him, they loved him. Maila, the six year old, found his moles very entertaining on his face. She would try to connect them with her fingers, causing her hands to be all over his face. Josh, the five year old, and Bentley the four year old, thought he was some sort of gangly jungle gym, and thus treated him so. Chelsea, the twelve year old, stood on the side egging the others on with suggestions to climb his legs and use his arms as pull-up bars. Some of the movements of the kids hurt him, but he ignored it, not wanting to draw attention to himself.

"I told you they'd like you," His dad laughed as Bentley took him down to the ground by running into his legs.

"Save me!" Stiles cried dramatically to his father, Aunt Leslie, and Uncle River. They all shook their heads, "Evil. That's what you all are, evil!"

"Stiles!" Josh poked his cheek, "Get up! We want to play tag!"

"How can I get up when there are space aliens climbing on me?" Stiles protested, flailing his arms for dramatic effect.

They all giggled and climbed off of him. He winced when Maila's foot landed in a few bruises on his stomach, and he rose from the ground, "Alright, who's going to be it?"

Stiles entertained the kids for as long as he could, but around lunchtime, he faded and headed into the air conditioned house, "How do you do it, Aunt Leslie and Uncle River? They never stop going!"

Aunt Leslie chuckled, her honey eyes, like Maila's and Bentley's, were amused, "They usually wear themselves out by now, but a new cousin seems to put their energy much higher than normal." His dad had said that his aunt and uncle had taken a few days off from work so that they could get together and hang out before Stiles' dad was called back into work with some, probably, werewolf related issue.

"Don't worry," Uncle River supplied, his dark eyebrows rising into his equally dark hairline, like Chelsea's and Josh's, "it's almost time for them to do some reading anyway."

"Reading?" the sheriff asked.

"We have them read during the summer so that they don't forget everything they learned at school, and for Bentley and Maila to get ready for school in the following years."

"Oh," Stiles said, "that's pretty cool!" and he meant it. He was a firm believer in the fact that knowledge is power and that imagination is more important than knowledge.

Then, the kids came rushing in chanting, "Lunch! Lunch! Lunch!" Their parents laughed and lunch was served for everyone, real, homemade cooking by Aunt Leslie. Once they were all finished, it was reading time, and Bentley shyly shuffled over to Stiles with a book behind his back.

"Stiles?" His eyes looking at the ground and his feet shuffling a little in front of him like he was prepared to be turned down at any moment.

His heart melted a little at how adorable little Bentley looked,"Yes, little man?"

"Will you read wiff me?"

"Of course!" He hauled an ecstatic Bentley onto his lap on the couch and they began reading a Dr. Seuss book together. Stiles made sure to let his cousin read most of the book and only helped when he had to.

He felt his dad's eyes on him and his cousin, and when he would chance a glance up at him, he looked like he was about to cry and like he was proud of Stiles. Stiles didn't know how to deal with a look like that properly; so he smiled a little and kept his attention on Bentley.

Afterwords, Stiles held him, "You're a really great reader, and one day you'll be reading the big kid books like your sister Chelsea!" She had been reading one of Stiles' favorites, Unwind.

Bentley was skeptical, "Really?"

"Most definitely."

By three in the afternoon, everyone was lounging about, talking or quietly playing. Chelsea was on her dad's tablet playing a game with Josh watching, and Bentley and Maila were building cabins out of Lincoln Logs. Aunt Leslie was telling a story of how she and Stiles' mom  got caught sneaking out for a concert when they were teenagers.

". . . so your mother thought that if we pushed the car down the block, to the end of the street, we wouldn't get caught by our parents. We didn't get caught, but we pushed the heavy car down the block before starting it. Which wasn't that hard, because it was downhill, but after the concert, still riding the adrenaline of getting away with it, we forgot that what goes downhill, also goes uphill. So, there we were," she stood up and mimed pushing a car, "hauling this stupid vehicle up the hill because we sneaked out to see The Styx."

Stiles and his dad laughed, "That sounds just like her!"

"Oh that's not the best part!" Aunt Leslie continued, "We got the car in just fine, but our rooms were on the second story and all the doors were locked. She decided that climbing the drainpipe would be the best option and she had me go first. All was fine and dandy until the pipe broke away from the house and bent toward the lawn. With me still on it!" She shook her head, "Needless to say, our parents woke up and we got chewed out pretty bad. We promised to never sneak out to a rock and roll concert ever again."

Stiles asked, already guessing the answer, "Did you stick to it?"

"Hell no! We just got better at it!"

Stiles doubled over in laughter, the image of his mother in 80's attire sneaking up a drainpipe still in his mind, "Oh man! That is great!"

Around six, they ate dinner, more delicious homemade treats, had a few drinks, well, the adults did, talked a bit more, mostly about the crazy stuff in Beacon Hills, and then Stiles and his dad headed back to the motel.

"Did you have fun?" Stiles' dad asked on their way back. His demeanor was relaxed as they cruised through the streets.

Stiles had had a great time, even if he was tricked into being a babysitter for the day, he really like his cousins, "Yeah, I did. Did you?"

"Yeah, kiddo, I did."

"Are we going back tomorrow?" He looked up at the full moon hanging in the sky and then back to his dad.

"Eager for more already? Or are you feeling the need to have children already? Should I be worried? Do you have something to tell me?"

Stiles laughed, "No Dad, just want to know," he paused, "But Dad?"

"Hmmm?"

"I'm pregnant."

His dad lightly smacked him on the head, "We are," he said after a minute, "going back tomorrow, I mean." He glanced at his son who was scratching his stomach and he frowned, "Stiles?"

"Hmmm?"

"Why do you have bruises on your stomach?"

Stiles panicked for a moment, "Remember when they were climbing on me? Well Maila kneed and stepped on my stomach."

"And that's why you were wincing all day?'

Shit, he noticed? "Yeah, didn't want to get her in trouble. She is just a kid."

"Just--just be more careful tomorrow, okay?"

"Sure, Dad."

Stiles smiled the rest of the way back, through his nighttime bathroom routine, and into the mattress at the motel. When he had just felt like he had gotten to sleep, he was suddenly jolted awake with a mild electrical charge.

His eyes snapped open and he saw Gerard Argent standing in front of him with a taser and a dozen men behind him. He felt that his hands were tied above him and attached to a chain, if the rattling was anything to go by, and his toes barely skimmed the ground.

"Oh shit."


	2. I Will Not Bow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's easier to lie with no voice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title pulled from Breaking Benjamin's song I Will Not Bow.

"Awake, are we?" Gerard's eyebrows rose, "Good," He motioned for one of the men behind him to go foreword, "Strip him."

Strip him? What? The man stepped toward him and he flashed out his claws and holy shit! That guy was a werewolf! His claws raked down Stiles' pajamas, effectively tearing them off and they fell to the ground.

He hung there naked, outraged, "What the fuck do you think you're doing?!"

A hand clasped onto both sides of his jaw, "You kiss your mother with that mouth, boy?" Gerard spat at him, and Stiles brought a knee up to meet Gerard's stomach with a satisfying grunt, "You will sorely regret that, I assure you." His voice dripped venom; his lip curled back menacingly.

Stiles did not care at that time. No one insulted his mom like that. No one. He watched Gerard step slowly back and he saw the men in the room start to buzz with energy, their features shifted into their half-wolf forms. He could also see the injuries from the previous night in the orange lighting, and he got a very bad feeling that spread throughout his entire body.

"It's amazing how much control is lost on the full moon--"

Shit. It was the full moon tonight, he saw it out his window a few hours ago. It was getting worse by the moment.

"--even to these once proud hunters," He clapped one of the men on the shoulder, "I intend to show you exactly how much control can be lost to these monsters." With a nod, the werewolves started to slink toward him. Stiles tried to back away from them, to try and get away, but he was chained up, "Ah, fellows," Gerard re-called their attention, "above the knees, below the collarbone, and before the arms. No where outside those lines, and no biting."

Some of the wolves snapped at him with their jaws, crazed, but Gerard quickly got them in line, "You will do as I say!" His voiced thundered in the empty space around them.

There were collective growls and whimpers around Stiles, but they quickly were subdued into obedience.

"Good, now continue."

"Wait, wait, wait! Whoa!" Stiles tried to reason with them, "Why would you want to do anything with me? I'm a teenager that hasn't fully grown into his limbs! Nothing special here! Move along." Even as he said that, he could feel the body heat of the dozen men all around him, steadily closing in.

A small whimper worked its way up his throat, but he swallowed it down just as the first pinprick of claws were on his sides. He then felt tongues laving around him, hands scratching everywhere they could reach, and he could hear clothes being taken off.

No. No! "Get off me!" Stiles thrashed harder than he had before, finally understanding where Gerard's plan was going, and he swore that he saw a small, continuous flash of red, "Get your filthy hand off me!" He kicked around as hard as he could, but they just caught his legs and held them out. The same guy that stripped him positioned himself in front of Stiles, ready to go, "No! You can't do this! Don't let the moon control you! Find someone you care about and--."

Stiles looked into they guy's eyes, the men next to him, and any of the other men that he could see the faces of, and he realized that they weren't betas or alphas. They were all omegas, all of them. Their eyes were panicked, crazed, and empty except for base instincts. They would do whatever their instincts told them to do, and that, apparently, was Stiles.

They guy pushed into him: no preparation, no lubrication, no condom. Stiles screamed trying to get away from him and everyone else. He screamed for his dad, Scott, Derek, anybody, to get him away from that torture. Tears leaked from his eyes and spilled onto his chest.

While the first omega had his turn, the other guys used any available body part of Stiles to get off on, his forced open legs, his back, his stomach, his feet, anything. It didn't feel good at all for Stiles. Why would it? He didn't want any of them, and he never would. So all he felt was pain and humiliation.

The first omega finished inside of Stiles and pulled out, only to be replaced by another omega. And once he finished, another one. By the time Stiles had forcibly served half of the omegas, his voice had gone hoarse and was replaced with breathed cries and pathetic whimpers.

Stiles had forgotten Gerard Argent was in the room up until the chain holding his hands up was loosened so that he fell foreword, bending over, and then tightened so that he couldn't move from that spot. He knew what was coming next, but that didn't stop him from trying to get away from the already finished omega's penises being pushed in his face.

"Suck them." Gerard commanded, and Stiles shook his head, keeping his mouth closed. Gerard pushed through the werewolves toward him and forced his mouth open, "Suck them and if you try to bite them off, I will head straight for your father before you can spit the blood out. Am I clear?"

Stiles sobbed, nodding.

"I said, am I clear?!" Gerard's voice echoed off the walls, demanding and answer.

"Y-yes sir," Stiles wheezed out, and then someone had shoved their penis down Stiles' throat and held his head in place as they continually forced his body to pleasure them. Man after man took their turns and emptied themselves in Stiles' body, once in both ends. By the time the last omega was finishing himself inside Stiles' mouth, Stiles had no more tears to cry or voice to scream; not even a whimper could escapehis throat.

The men slowly backed away, looking less maniac-like than they did at the start of the horror. Gerard came foreword, forcing Stiles' chin up to look at him, "Now do you understand what those vile creatures can do to a human? Can do to you? You are better than those monsters and you know it."

Stiles knew what he was trying to do. He was trying to get Stiles to join his side and possibly kill Scott, Issac, Erica, Boyd, Derek, and Jackson. No matter how much Stiles got annoyed with their werewolf antics, their ability to drag out face to face conversations out until the very last minute, causing a lot of misunderstandings, and Jackson, he would never go against them. It was his fault that they were werewolves in the first place.

So, Stiles spat the remaining trace amounts of semen in his mouth at Gerard. His eyes shining in defiance. "Never," he mouthed.

Gerard was furious. He wiped the seminal fluid and spit from his being and spoke in a dangerous tone, "If you love the damned abominations so much, why don't you become one?" That was the last thing he heard as a cloth was placed over his mouth, covered in Chloroform, and he slipped into unconsciousness.

\-----

He woke slowly, in a pair of pajamas, similar to the ones that were destroyed during the night. Sunrise light filtered into the motel room through the window. The light gave enough light for him to see his father sprawled out on his stomach on the bed next to his. Hands fisted under the pillow, covers thrown over to one side and twisted around his legs, and his right foot hanging off the bed. The sheriff looked years younger without the stress wearing on him; he looked at ease.

Stiles slowly became aware of the pain radiating throughout his body. His jaw felt swollen and sore and his behind felt like he might never be able to walk properly again. He wanted to cry and scream, but he found that his throat was raw, not just from continuous penises in there, but from his screaming, and he had screamed a lot. His eyes couldn't conjure up water if they begged for it because he was so dehydrated.

Again, that voice in the back of his head told him to tell his dad. To tell him everything. To have him lock up Gerard in prison for good, or have him burned alive. Whichever was more appealing. But how? He didn't have a voice for the time being and he didn't know if he was strong enough to write it down.

No. He couldn't tell his father. Not now. Possibly never. He wished he could, he desperately wished for that, but he knew he was being stupid.

Stiles slowly moved out of his bed, putting his fist in his mouth with every movement. He hurt. Dear God, did he hurt. Every movement of his legs sent spiderwebs of pain up his spine. Bending down to get his toiletries and clothes was borderline excruciating, but he eventually made it into the bathroom. He practically collapsed against the closed door, breathing heavy and sweating.

He went to the bathroom, washed his hands, scrubbed his mouth almost raw with his toothbrush, flossed like he had a dentist appointment, and then he finally stripped. While he undressed, he didn't know what was worse, being violently raped or being violently raped and put back into his bed with new pajamas. It was like he was treated like a piece of meat and then magic occurred and he was suddenly a human being to be treated well again.

When his clothes were on the floor, he didn't look himself in the mirror; instead, he stared at the new additions to his growing collection of injuries. The bruises from before were now less black and more blue, and the welts were only slightly raised with a little pink extending from them. He was healing, slowly, but he was healing.

The new injuries came in the forms of claw punctures in his thighs and sides and claw marks down his back. There were now fingerprint bruises and claw pricks on his hips, both ways. His hands shook as he covered his mouth and sobbed silently and without tears.

He rummaged through his dad's toiletry bag for his pain killers he used for back pain and he downed three along with his Adderall. Stiles then slowly turned on the shower and got in. The hot water felt nice on his skin, but the nice feeling was defeated with Stiles scrubbing at his skin until it was red, especially on his backside and thighs. He felt used and dirty, and worst of all, he felt like he could never be safe in his own body ever again.

But no, he couldn't think like that. His dad would suspect something. He needed to think about how much fun he was going to have with his cousins. About how much more he was going to hear about his mother. About how his father was going to laugh and smile because he didn't feel disappointed in his son.

Stiles turned the water off and dried himself and he realized something: He had not woken up with morning wood. And really? He was kind of glad. There was no way he would be able to think about nice sexual things when all his brain kept replaying were horrifying rape things.

Once he was dressed, he shuffled awkwardly back to his bed and sat down, taking out his cell phone. He had two text messages. One was from Scott and the other was from Derek. Both of them sent around two in the morning.

Scott said that he hoped that he was having a good time with his dad and that he couldn't wait to hang out after he got back. He then said that their summer English book was beyond boring, just for a heads up for Stiles.

Derek had told him, briefly, that Erica and Boyd returned to Beacon Hills, safely, and that Erica wanted to see him when he got back. Erica didn't have Stiles' number, so he understood why Derek had texted him about it.

After replying to the messages, he checked his e-mail using the motel Wi-Fi, and then sat there. He sat on the bed for a good hour before his dad woke up, grumbling. Stiles watched his father try twice to push himself up and fail, before he rolled to the edge of the bed and dragged himself to the bathroom with his clothes.

A long twenty minutes later, his dad came from the bathroom, dressed and groomed, looking at him oddly. He forced a smile, hoping it didn't look forced, and waved to him.

"Stiles?" He yawned, "What are you doing up already?"

He shrugged.

His dad squinted at him, "Alright, what's the secret?"

Shit! Did he know?

"What did you break?"

Oh. Oh! Thank God! He had no clue, "Nothing," he tried, but only the sound of his lips moving could be heard. He flushed. Shit. How was he going to explain that?

The sheriff walked toward him, "What's up, kiddo? Did you lose your voice?"

Stiles nodded and typed out a message on his phone for his dad to read.

"'I must have lost it when I was playing with the kiddies yesterday.'" His dad read aloud, "Makes sense," he nodded, "you all were being pretty loud," he sighed, "Well, just don't try to talk for a few days and you should be fine. Okay?"

Stiles nodded and smiled, "Breakfast?" he mouthed.

  
Truthfully, he wasn't hungry, but he forced down a bowl of oatmeal and orange juice and tried not to puke it back up. He watched his dad stare forlornly at his own oatmeal and orange juice.

"I don't get how you can still manage to do that without being able to speak," he gestured toward his pathetic food.

Stiles shrugged in an 'I have amazing skills' kind of way. They finished their breakfast, once again at a restaurant and headed to their family's house.

When they pulled into the driveway, the children were waiting for Stiles, and they were on him as soon as he had the door closed. Stiles didn't want to be mean and push them away, but fuck, that hurt.

Thankfully, his dad did it for him, "Alright kiddos, listen up," they stopped jumping around him and looked up at his father, "Stiles lost his voice and he got a few bruises yesterday, so you all are going to have to be very gentle with him today. He won't be able to tell you that anything is not okay, okay?"

They nodded, wide-eyed.

"Good, now go on, go play."

The kids gently pulled Stiles' hands to the yard and they had him sit down. They then gathered all sorts of weed flowers for him to play with. He set to work making them all little wreaths for their hair with them and they loved them. They ran around, twirled, and danced, claiming they were princes and princesses, or hippies.

Stiles made one for himself, too, and they made him wear it as the played Ring Around the Rosie. He yearned to tell them the story behind that song, or at least tell Chelsea who would understand, but he couldn't.

All day, throughout every activity and meal with his family, he felt an overwhelming sense of depression. He tried to hide it as best he could, but the adults noticed it anyway.

It was after dinner when everyone was winding down from the day when his Aunt Leslie plopped herself down next to Stiles and asked, "Are you alright, honey?"

Stiles stared at her honey eyes, matching his own, and forced a smile. He then typed out, "Sure I am! Why wouldn't I be?"

Aunt Leslie frowned, "You. . . you just looked so sad all day," she slung an arm around his back and he tried his best not to shy away from it, "and we were getting worried."

Uncle River walked in with a glass of water for Stiles and sat on the other side of him, "You didn't seem like yourself today. I remember when you would talk for hours about things you had learned to anyone with an ear. And I understand you lost your voice--sorry about that. We try to keep them from screaming too.--but even your hands looked sad."

"My hands?" Stiles mouthed, eyebrows raised in amusement.

His dad jumped in to answer that, "When you talk a lot, you use emphatic hand gestures, but today you didn't."

He shrugged and typed out, "I guess I just wish Mom was here," Which was true. There wasn't a day he didn't wish his mother wasn't still with them.

Aunt Leslie rubbed his back, right along the werewolf scratches, "I know, honey, I do too. And I know she wishes she was here with us too, but we have to make the best of what she left behind for us."

"Yeah," Uncle River explained, "she gave us you, a wonderful nephew that will let us rest our feet while he plays with our kids. And a nephew that encourages our kids to read and learn with his constant use of knowledge during conversations."

Stiles nodded, smiling solemnly.

They said good-bye and the Stilinskis promised to come by in the morning before they returned to Beacon Hills for breakfast. Once in the car, his dad spoke to him.

"I miss her too," his voice was strained, like he was trying very hard not to cry in front of his son, "I miss her everyday, but I know that missing her won't bring her back. And besides, I've got you to keep me in line, just like she did." He smiled at the end, glancing at Stiles.

Stiles had his eyes glued to his father's profile, trying desperately not to reach across the center console and hug him. He would hug him when he wasn't driving. But then he thought of how his Aunt Leslie's gentle touches made him feel. They felt uncomfortable, like he didn't want her anywhere near him, like she was one of the omegas.

That was ridiculous! There was no way that she would ever be anything like those things, but his mind wasn't paying attention to reason like that. No, he would hug his dad and everything would be alright again.

He did hug his dad, and it did feel uncomfortable, but he pushed past that. They got ready for bed, in silence because of Stiles' lack of commentary, and Stiles triple checked the window and the door of the motel room. Once he convinced himself that he was safe and that Gerard wouldn't be able to get in, he carefully lied down in bed, and dozed off.

When he awoke in the same orange lit, octagonal cage, again, he wanted to scream, but he couldn't. All he could do was watch as Gerard had the omegas inhale wolfs bane smoke and wolf out in front of him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really don't like when people touch me too.


	3. Bloodflood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There was so much blood, so much.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title inspiration was Bloodflood by Alt-J.

This time, however, he wasn't tied up. He was in full control of all of his limbs, and he used those limbs to push himself on to his feet from the concrete floor. The werewolves were growling around him and snapping at each other, like they were getting ready for a fight.  
  
"There's a hierarchy in werewolf packs:" Gerard's voice stated, informatively, "alpha, beta, omega. Only an alpha's bite can turn a human into a werewolf, and the bite can cure countless things. Asthma, epilepsy, excess weight, even cancer, but I'm sure you already knew all of this."  
  
"Then why tell me what I already know?" Stiles snarked, or tried to, his voice was still horribly strained, his eyes trying to find some means of escaping the cage.  
  
Gerard ignored him, "Omegas can become betas, betas can become alphas, alphas can become omegas, and the opposites of those facts are also true," he started to slowly walk toward Stiles, slowly twisting a thin blade in his hands, "Usually, the power of an alpha has to be either inherited or killed for," Stiles backed up with every step Gerard took toward him, "but what if there isn't an alpha already established? What if there is a group of omegas,  of lone wolves, that are gathered in one place? Would they eventually establish a pack dynamic or would they continue being pathetic omegas?"  
  
All those questions were rhetorical, and Stiles did not like where this was headed. He knew from experience that rhetorical questions were usually never followed by something good.  
  
"What if they were pushed into fighting for power? Would an alpha be established then?" Stiles had hit one of the chain-link walls of the cage and Gerard was half a foot from him, "All those silly questions aside," he took the last step toward Stiles and held up the blade next to Stiles' neck, "How strong is a wolf's blood lust that he would start to kill all around him in order to get to it?"  
  
Stiles swallowed dryly, making his voice even more scratchy, "Do werewolves even have blood lust? Isn't that vampires?"  
  
Gerard laughed darkly, "Of course werewolves have blood lust, and the closer it is to the full moon, the stronger it is," he pulled the knife down to Stiles' chest and pressed through the cotton of his t-shirt in a five inch sweep, "The fresher the blood, the better it is."  
  
The omegas behind Gerard started snapping ferociously, stalking foreword. Stiles pressed himself into the cage wall, heart beat running wild.  
  
The blade cut into his stomach, just below his ribs, "I think an alpha can be made through a tournament, of sorts, and that alpha can have the power to give a human the bite. A human that was so cruelly tricked by his granddaughter's boyfriend. After all, all he wanted was for himself to live to see the world rid of the menace of werewolves." Gerard slipped the blade along Stiles' sides a few more times, drawing more blood, "Shall we see if I'm right?"  
  
Stiles saw the omegas stalled right behind Gerard, trying to push past an invisible barrier. His palms were sweating, desperately clutching the chain-link, and his legs were trembling a little.  
  
An omega snarled by Gerard's ear, and Stiles gave a confused look, "You're not the only one that knows how to use mountain ash," With that, Gerard gave one last arc of the blade across Stiles' skin, the longest one yet. It extended from the middle of his back to his hip bone, and suddenly, Gerard was gone. In his place came the omegas.  
  
The first one to Stiles immediately bit into his side, Stiles howled. Another omega knocked the first biter off and they started to battle for who got to - oh God - eat Stiles.  
  
While those two were fighting, ten other omegas bit all around Stiles' body, any part they could reach, and when one realized that another was trying to infringe on his territory, a fight ensued.  
  
Every few seconds, an omega would get close enough to bite at Stiles again, and it hurt like a bitch. Stiles tried his best to move away from the main focus point of the fights in the cage to a better place, but they always followed.  
  
After about five minutes of watching hunters-turned-omega werewolves maul each other, three of them lay dead in their own blood. Their claws raked across Stiles' clothes, shredding them, but not enough for him to be naked again. They would get offended by the others and start battling, but the would always come back. They always came back.  
  
Stiles was backing away from two omegas that were pushing each other when he fell over backwards on a box. He felt metal objects hit his, still pained, rear on the way down. Inside the box was things like iron lug wrenches, crowbars, strips of metal, PVC pipe, and an assortment of screwdrivers. He realized that that was were Gerard must have gotten the PVC pipe two nights ago, and he didn't hesitate to grab a few of the items and hold them in his defense.  
  
An omega lunged at him and he smashed the lug wrench right against his skull, it sent the omega sprawling. The other omega also lunged, moments after the first, and had latched onto Stiles' shoulder. Stiles thrust a screwdriver in between the omega's ribs and jerked it in all directions. He went still and then slumped onto Stiles, dead.  
  
Stiles was panting, shaking a little, and bloody, even so, he could clearly see a continuous flashing of red, the same as last night. He realized, the same as on a video camera. The fucker was recording this! For what purpose would he need to record this, other than to see if his sick, little experiment worked? And Gerard, the asshole, was no where to be seen.  
  
Oh God. He saw that light last night, while he was being--. That meant that Gerard had been recording it all! Anger welled up within Stiles, and he pushed the dead werewolf off of him. He slipped a few more screwdrivers and some metal strips, that were actually really sharp, into his pockets of his pajamas and took hold of a crowbar, eyes steeled over.  
  
Seven omegas were still going at it around him, still trying to turn Stiles into a chew toy. Naturally, he brought the crowbar down onto the back of the first one he saw, thinking about how, even though he liked the werewolves in Beacon Hills, these werewolves were beneath the scum of the earth. He would slaughter them all, and then, once he was sure that the life drained from their eyes completely, then he would put Gerard through Hell.  
  
The struck wolf stumbled, but was still able to move and Stiles used the prying end of the crowbar to wedge it under his jaw. Stiles then used his entire body weight and tore the werewolf's jaw roughly off. Blood splattered everywhere on Stiles, but he was too busy using one of the metal strips to slit deeply into the other werewolf's throat to notice.  
  
Seven down, five to go. Adrenaline streamed through his veins and he stalked toward his prey. Three werewolves were beating at each other at once, a little too occupied to notice Stiles coming. They didn't fully realize he was there until Stiles had bashed the lug wrench and crowbar into one of their legs, sending the omega to his knees. Stiles then drove a Phillips head screwdriver through his forehead.  
  
The body stilled a heartbeat after the tool was inserted and it fell over, blood draining out onto the floor. Stiles dropped the crowbar and lug wrench and threw a metal strip like a Frisbee at the head of one of the other wolves. He had doubted that that move would actually work, considering he had never been all that great at Frisbee, but the metal lodged into the  werewolf's head right between the eyes. The werewolf jerked back, stilled and then fell back on to the floor, dead.  
  
Three more. The werewolf that was the most recent kill that he had been fighting curled his lips at Stiles. He then closed the space between them, claws extended, but Stiles was poised with another metal strip, using it as a sword. He slashed at the wolf in every direction it came and the wolf dodged the swipes.  
  
Stiles was just trying to keep it at bay a little longer before making his move, but the wolf was having none of that. He latched his teeth onto Stiles' collarbone as Stiles drove the metal through the werewolf's stomach, where it could clearly be seen on the other side. Dead, Stiles threw the body onto the ground and advanced to the final two.  
  
As he was walking, he felt a rush of wooziness. He had lost quite a bit of blood from the countless bites on his body; he could feel the blood dripping and drying down his arms and back. His pajamas were thoroughly soaked in blood, but he begged for a few more minutes of energy to finish this. To seek retribution.  
  
He blinked, gathering himself, and realized that the last two had ceased their fighting and were growling at him, one falling behind the other as they came closer. Stiles stumbled back and nearly tripped on the abandoned crowbar and lug wrench. Snatching the crowbar back up, the three of them circled each other.  
  
The werewolves snarled at him, eyes flashing, and Stiles growled back, more animalistic than he thought possible for himself. The one closer to Stiles must have took that as a threat and he sprung. Stiles was ready though, as the werewolf came toward him in the air, Stiles batted the crowbar up into his neck, causing the omega to fall to the ground, not dead though.  
  
The last omega charged for Stiles, and Stiles dropped the crowbar and used the last of his pocketed screwdrivers to shove them into the werewolves eye sockets, pull them out, and plunge them into his chest. The werewolf was dead soon after.  
  
Breathing hard, Stiles retrieved the crowbar for the final time and continuously, ruthlessly brought it down onto the body of the werewolf he had just swung at. Even long after the werewolf was dead, Stiles kept beating him, every drop of anger, hatred, and retribution pouring into each swing of the crowbar.  
  
Once he felt like he could no longer keep swinging, he threw the crowbar onto the dead werewolf's body. He then slowly walked to the box and retrieved another metal strip. Stiles then went to every single werewolf and cut of their penis; he was going to Hell for murder anyway. Why not add mutilation to murder to sweeten the deal?  
  
He had just cut off the last one when he realized that he didn't know how he was going to be able to get out and get back to his motel. Fuck, he didn't even know what time it was. Stiles ran his fingers along the fence, searching for a way out besides the door, which was chained and locked on the outside.  
  
Shuffling around the eight sides, he found a just big enough hole for him to fit under. Holding his breath, he wriggled out of the torture cage and set out to find the exit. In his haste to get away, he completely forgot about the camera.  
  
He found it and went out to find himself cloaked in darkness. At least he knew that he hadn't been gone long enough for his dad to wake up and find him missing. There were motel lights about a mile from where he was, he recognized the sign of the one he was staying at, and he started walking toward them. His arms wrapped around himself, protectively, as his feet shuffled foreword. His mind was playing 'Stay awake. Make it back. You can do it,' on repeat the entire way.  
  
Miraculously, he made it back to his motel. Thanks to the hour of the night, the only witnesses to his blood-soaked, bitten, beaten, and bruised demeanor were a few cats. When he neared his motel room, he wondered how he was going to get back in, and he was preparing himself to have to wake his father when he saw that the door was not fully closed. The not fully shut door had not engaged the locking mechanism and Stiles could easily slip right through it.  
  
He silently shut the door behind him and listened for his father's breathing. It was steady, a small rustle sounded as he readjusted himself in his bed. After a small moment to thank any deity that would listen for being able to stay alive, Stiles limped to his bag and retrieved his hidden, extensive, first aid kit. Stiles then limped to the bathroom to clean himself up.  
  
As he turned on the light, he caught sight of his reflection and he nearly screamed. His once gray t-shirt was completely covered in blood, most of it not his own, and his skin was stained red. He pulled the front of the t-shirt, it fell away easily with how shredded it was, and he examined the bites. Just from a cursory glance, they didn't look too bad.  
  
Stiles pulled off his blood-caked pants and his boxers and turned on the shower. The temperature was set to scalding, to flush out any toxins on the surface and to wash away the feelings of shame, anger, and uncleanliness that surrounded him. The spray stung every new wound, and the soap burned something horrible, but he cleaned himself as best he could without reopening the wounds. The water was red, slowly fading into pink, and Stiles couldn't help but wonder if this was how Jackson felt when he was the kanima.  
  
Did he wash the blood off his hands and watch the water take it down the drain? How long had it taken the water to turn clear again for Jackson? Longer than it had for Stiles? Shorter? Of course, Jackson wouldn't be able to tell Stiles any of that. The guy had the luxury of going into a fugue state during his kills. Stiles wasn't that lucky.  
  
Finished, Stiles turned off the water and stepped out of the tub, making sure no drops of blood were anywhere on the tub or the floor. Using a towel, he wiped the condensation from the mirror and re-examined the bite marks. He carefully inspected every single one he could reasonably see, all except one on his shoulder blade, and he deduced that only one or two of them were deep enough for stitches.  
  
Rummaging in the first aid kit, Stiles produced the needle and thread used for stitches, as well as the scissors, rubbing alcohol, and numbing gel. He cautiously dribbled the rubbing alcohol on them, wincing, liberally applied the gel to a bite on his side, the first bite of the night, he realized, and set to work stitching up the crescent of teeth marks. It was slow goings because, even though he had the numbing gel, he could still feel some of the pain, and every stitch had to be separate from the next, so there was that. Once finished, he wiped the blood that dripped from his handiwork, applied some Neosporin, and repeated the process on the bite on his upper thigh.  
  
For the rest of them, he applied rubbing alcohol and Neosporin and covered them in the large band-aids. He also covered the cuts Gerard had made as best he could, or until he was 99 percent sure they wouldn't bleed randomly over his clothes during the next few days.  
  
Everything hurt terribly, from the two day old welts and bruises, to his ass, to his new bite marks, so, of course, he downed more pain relief medicine from his dad's bag. Stiles then cleaned up all of the torn and bloody clothes, wrappers, thread clippings, and bloody tissues and concealed them back in his first aid kit. He then trudged back to his bag and pulled on a pair of pants and a shirt and gingerly lied down in bed.  
  
Stiles lay there for hours, waiting for sleep to take him, yet he knew that if he let sleep come, he would have nothing but nightmares of wolf's bane intoxicated werewolves doing horrible things to his body. Thus, he lay there, awake until the first shafts of light shone through the curtain cracks.  
  
He pulled himself off the bed and went to the bathroom for his morning routine, minus the shower, and changed before his father woke up and saw what a state he was in. Thankfully, Stiles had packed one of his trusty hoodies, as well as a long-sleeved, plaid shirt. He grabbed the darkest t-shirt he packed, one he had worn the day they got there, and slipped it on.  
  
Layering his clothes on felt a lot like suiting up for war. Every new piece was a lie to protect his secrets from his friends and family, and he was oddly at ease with that. Stiles deduced that he was probably in shock, and everything would hit him later on, much later on, he dared to hope.  
  
A knock came on the bathroom door, "Hey kiddo, could you hurry up? Nature is calling."  
Stiles tried to say that he was just finishing, but then he remembered: he had no voice, so he just knocked once. He gathered his clothes and toiletries and left the bathroom, ducking his head around his father.  
  
His dad did his things in the bathroom while Stiles slowly gathered all his things up and back into his bag. They were leaving for home after breakfast with his cousins. After all his things were packed, he sat on the bed with his bag ready to go and his phone in his hands.  
  
He wasn't dinking around on it, he was just holding it when his dad walked back in, all clean, "Did you get Scott's voice mail?"  
  
Stiles' head shot up, eyebrows raised in a questioning look.  
  
"Ah, yeah, you can't talk," the sheriff messily pulled his things into his own bag as he spoke, "Scott called a little after you passed out last night. I didn't answer it, even though that ring tone you set for him - "She Wolf?" - was really loud," he pulled the zipper closed on his bag, "Your phone beeped a minute or two after it stopped playing, so I assume he left you a voice mail."  
  
Stiles nodded, understanding, but Scott's ring tone was "Hungry Like A Wolf." Scott hated it and tried not to have Stiles lose his phone too often in his presence, which he would sometimes do on purpose. Derek's ring tone was "She Wolf," and Stiles wondered what he wanted.  
  
He unlocked his screen and pressed the voice mail icon. After going through all the annoying procedures of a cell phone voice mail, the message from Derek played out, "Stiles?" his voice was gruff, "Call me back as soon as you get this, it's important." That was it. Stiles deleted it and opened up a new text message to Derek.  
  
"Got your message," he typed, "What's up?" It was around seven in the morning, so he didn't expect a reply for a good hour or so, and he pocketed his phone.  
  
"Did he call saying that he ran out of things to do because you're not there?" His father teased lightly.  
  
Stiles forced a smile and nodded, then, gestured to the door.  
  
"Eager beaver, huh?" the sheriff smiled, "Well, let's go have some real breakfast." They picked up their bags, double checked the room to make sure they didn't leave anything, and hopped in the car.  
  
The drive was filled with oldies rock coming from the radio while Stiles mindlessly stared out the window. He tried not to think about what happened over the last three nights, which was a lot harder than ignorance would assume.  
  
"Hey?" His dad suddenly said, "You alright?"  
  
Stiles slowly dragged his gaze from the running fence lines to his father. There was a split second where Stiles just stared at the man, but then he put on a happy smile and nodded. He then went back to staring, but he could feel the sheriff glance over at him every few seconds.  
  
Their car pulled up into the driveway, and they got out and politely knocked on the door. Aunt Leslie opened it with a sunny disposition. Stiles and his dad walk inside, and Stiles saw his cousins look up at him and smile with open affection.  
  
"Stiles!" Bentley cries and almost trips over Josh trying to get to him first. He ran right into Stiles' legs. For a moment, Stiles just stood there, letting Bentley hug his legs, then his throat swelled and he fell to his knees, hugging Bentley tight, "Stiles?" his little voice quivering because his big cousin was suddenly sobbing into his little shoulder.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was the last chapter of Stiles being tortured! Cross my heart!


	4. Wayfaring Stranger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Somethings are better left unsaid.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song used was Wayfaring Stranger by Ed Sheeran.
> 
> Can I just, for a moment, about Scott's mom? Because she is a fierce woman who don't need no man.

Stiles felt like his skin was becoming too tight for his body, like it was suffocating him, and he couldn't remember how to breath properly. He could feel hands coaxing him into releasing Bentley and rubbing soothingly on his back. It would have been nice, but the 'soothing' hands felt wrong, all wrong. Those hands felt a lot like they were getting ready to violate him again; he did not want that.

He might have shaken all the hands off and backed himself against a wall, knees drawn up to his chest, shaking his head, but it was hard to tell when he felt like he was being crushed inside his skin. The sheriff must have had everyone back up from him and crouched in front of him. His voice was soft, caring, "Hey Stiles? Kiddo, you're okay, you're safe. Nothing and no one here will hurt you. Stiles you are safe. I promise," He repeated the words over and over again before Stiles could take in a lung full of air right.

Uncle River had brought a glass of water for Stiles and he handed it to his father, "Stiles can you tell me what caused a panic attack in you?" He gingerly took Stiles' hands off his legs and placed them around the glass, "I have to know, okay?"

Inhale, exhale, repeat. Stiles kept those steps running in his mind until he felt like he could swallow some water. With shaking hands, he brought the glass to his lips and gulped down a mouthful. He then gave it back to his dad and pulled out his phone.

"You don't know?" His dad asked after reading what his son wrote, "You didn't feel sad or angry or like you couldn't control anything?"

Spot on, actually, but Stiles knew better than to tell him. Instead, he shook his head and drank more water. Really? As soon as he saw Bentley, so young, so happy, running toward him, he got an overwhelming urge that said he would never be able to protect him like his dad hadn't been able to protect him. He knew that wasn't his dad's fault at all, but Stiles feared that Bentley could be hurt like Stiles was, and that terrified him.

"Stiles?" Bentley tentatively asked, scared, "Did I hurt you? Do you still like me? Stiles!" the little boy sobbed, tiny fists catching the tears from his eyes, "I'm sorry! Stiles, I'm sorry!"

Stiles shook his head rapidly, and pulled his cousin close into his chest. He placed soft kisses around his head as Bentley threw his arms around Stiles' neck. His hand rubbed gently on the small child's back. Slowly, Stiles stood up, painfully and gritting his teeth with every tense of his muscles, with Bentley still clutching him and moved to the table where breakfast was already set out.

If that didn't make him feel like shit, he didn't know what would. His aunt and uncle had gone through all the trouble of making a nice meal for the Stilinski men and their own family, hoping it would be a happy good-bye, and Stiles had to ruin it by having a fucking panic attack. He glanced at his aunt.

She had her hand over her mouth, looking concerned and looking at him. He mouthed, "I am so sorry," to her. That seemed to break her out of her staring and she frowned.

"Chelsea? Get your brother and sister to the table, please. Honey?" she looked at her husband, "please put the glass away." She then lead Mr. Stilinski to the table and took her own seat. As soon as her husband was sat down, she started passing food around. Her family took it and filled their plates, still not saying anything.

Bentley slowly leaned back from Stiles, "Do you hate me?"

Stiles vigorously shook his head and mimed, "I love you," to him.

"Really?"

Again, Stiles' head was a blur as he responded.

"Good! 'Cause I love you too!" Bentley then climbed down from Stiles' lap onto the bench by his siblings, "Mama! Can I have three pancakes?"

Leslie smiled, "Only if you can eat the first two, baby." The tension in the room diffused after that and bubbly chatter of anything that popped into the children's minds. They went from Harry Potter, to why cookies and creme ice cream was better than rocky road.

Stiles ate quietly, as if he had a choice, and smiled when he could. His smiles still felt empty to him and his dad would shoot him glances every few minutes, but for a little while, everything felt mostly fine.

Halfway through Bentley's third pancake, which a good chunk of it was still in his mouth, he suddenly shouted, "Stiles will you marry me?"

Stiles had a piece of bacon poised mostly in his mouth when he was asked that. He glanced around the table and saw the adults suppressing laughter, even his dad was shaking a little.

"Bennie," River chuckled, "why do you want to marry Stiles?" Stiles lightly hit the table with his hand, offended by that, "Not that he isn't great and all, but why do you want to marry your cousin?"

"Because he's pretty! And nice! And he can swing me really high!" Bentley then turned back to Stiles, "You can wear the dress!"

His dad burst out laughing at the image of his son in a dress, "I would pay to see that!" Stiles shot him a 'I will get you back for this' look, which he simply shrugged off.

He then realized that Bentley was looking at him, expectantly, because he had not given his answer yet. Stiles put a hand to his chin, feigning contemplation, and then looked at his cousin seriously. He then nodded like it was a very important matter.

Bentley through his hands in the air, "Yay! Mama! I'm getting married!"

"I wanna be the flower girl!" Josh exclaimed, just as happy as his brother.

"No!" Maila proclaimed, "I wanna be the flower girl!"

Chelsea said, "I'm the maid of honor, then."

From that point on, the rest of breakfast was all the kids trying to plan Stiles' and Bentley's wedding. Apparently it was going to be after the Fourth of July, because they were going camping or something, and they were going to wear Batman capes. It sounded pretty awesome, actually.

When it came time for Stiles and the sheriff to leave, they all complained and begged them to stay. The sheriff tried his best to break it to them, "We have to leave, kiddos! How else is Beacon Hills supposed to stay safe from all the nasty monsters if I'm not there to protect it."

They sighed, understanding that nasty monsters cannot win an entire town. Aunt Leslie hugged the sheriff and then Stiles, "Don't hesitate to come back, really, I mean it. We really loved having you over, all of us did, and we want to see more of you!"

Uncle River followed his wife's lead and said good-bye to the two of them, shaking their hands, "Maybe we could visit you next time. From what I hear, Beacon Hills is pretty exciting."

The sheriff chuckled, "You could say that again," he gave a collective squeeze to his nieces and nephews, with a few hair ruffles thrown in, and he was moving toward the door, "Well, we'll see you later."

Stiles high-fived, hugged, kissed, and hair ruffled all of them. He then followed his father out the door, waving until the very last second before the door closed.

"Well, that was fun," the sheriff said as they climbed into the car. It was started and they started the two hour drive back to Beacon Hills. After a while on the road, he said, "It's weird, you not being able to talk. I feel like some thing's missing all the time now. It must be your sarcastic comments." He smiled at Stiles who smirked back.

Stiles then felt his phone vibrate in his pocket. It was Derek and it said, "We need to talk," that was never a good thing, "when will you be back?"

Stiles tapped out his reply, "T minus two hours until landing." They would be back around noon and the sooner Derek talked to him, the less time he would have to remember being attacked by werewolves.

It's not that he thought Derek would ever purposely hurt him like that, it was just that Stiles really didn't know if he could trust werewolves anymore, and that included Scott. Gerard sure had taken a lot from Stiles in the past three days. His security, his first sexual experience, his voice, his ability to keep his shit together, and his ability to trust his best friend for life, Scott.

Derek replied with, "I'll be at your house at noon."

"Will you use the front door or the window?" Stiles teased, and it felt good being able to push Derek's buttons like that without being super-sensed on-- and shit. Derek would be able to smell the blood and possibly the seminal fluid. That was not good.

"Just be there."

Stiles' heart was frantically beating, worrying over how he was going to stop Derek from finding out, "Window it is!" He would have to douse himself in cologne, roll in onions, or something equally smelly so Derek won't be able to smell it. He did not want to have to explain what happened to him to anyone, especially Derek.  While Stiles was debating whether he was willing to spend his money on five pounds of onions, his dad had safely delivered them to their house.

The sheriff pulled into the garage and shut the car off, "Thanks for coming with me, even if you did lose your voice. I had a good time."

Stiles nodded and the Stilinskis gathered their bags and went into the house. Stiles dropped all of his non-bloody clothing off in the laundry room and skedaddled to his room, half expecting Derek to already be there. Thankfully he wasn't, which gave Stiles enough time to find some cologne or body spray to mask what happened to him.

Just as he was about to spray it, his dad knocked on the door, "Hey kiddo," he said pulling the door open, "I've got to head into the office for a bit, Bethany went into labor, but I should be back before six. Could you find something to eat for us, please no more salads, and do the laundry while I'm gone?"

Stiles nodded and gestured emphatically, trying to convey his message.

"Yeah, stay safe, I know," the sheriff smiled at him and headed to the front door.

While the elder Stilinski was hopping in his squad car, Stiles had stepped into his bathroom and sprayed himself heavily with some body spray he found. He coughed around the cloud he released and his eyes watered, but he thought that no one would be able to smell what happened on him, werewolf or not.

He re-entered his room to find Derek already in there, looking pissed off, "Why did you spray so much of that shit?"

Stiles shrugged, grinning goofily, walking over to his computer desk chair and plopped himself down on it.

Derek narrowed his eyes at him, "Don't do it again, it smells horrible."

Stiles stuck out his tongue, childishly, spinning a little in his chair.

There was a silence where Derek probably thought Stiles was going to say something sarcastic and biting, but there was just silence. Stiles just looked at Derek expectantly, twisting back and forth in his chair, "Well?" Derek finally huffed out, "Aren't you going to say anything?"

Stiles slowly shook his head and pulled out his phone. He texted Derek his reply.

"You lost your voice?" Derek's own was disbelieving, "Whatever. I don't have time for your antics. I came by to ask if anything happened while you were gone?"

Stiles froze. How the fuck could he know if anything happened? He caught Derek's reaction and forced himself to chill the fuck out. His fingers tapped out a text, "Other than losing my voice? Which I really did lose."

Derek read it, eyes rolling, "Yeah."

As Stiles was about to reply, Scott called his phone. He answered it and blew into the receiver to let Scott know he was there.

"Hey Stiles! Are you home yet? I am bored beyond relief!"

Stiles, forgetting that he couldn't speak for a moment, tried to ask what 'bored beyond relief' meant, but what came out was a thin rasping noise.

"Stiles? Are you okay?"

Derek snatched his phone from his hands, "He lost his voice, apparently, and he wasn't lying about it," Stiles gave an 'I told you so!' gesture, "Did you guys talk over the last two days?"

Stiles could just barely make out Scott's voice, "What? You mean like calling each other or anything?"

"Anything."

"Not really, he texted me back once to one message I sent him. It was trip with his dad, I didn't want to get in the way of that." Scott paused, "Hey! Stay away from Stiles! You're not allowed to bite him!"

Stiles rolled his eyes, as if he wanted to be a werewolf when it was his fault all his friends were werewolves. Except Jackson, Jackson was an asshole.

"I'm not going to bite him, Scott." Derek pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Then why are you there?"

"Something happened alright!"

Fuck. How did Derek know that?

"How do you know that?"

"Scott, I just know!" Derek was practically screaming into his phone.

"Jesus fuck, calm down. Why don't you just ask Stiles then?"

"He was going to say something than some dumbass called him."

"Excuse me for wanting to talk to my best friend!" Scott paused a moment, "Put me on speakerphone."

Derek did so, begrudgingly, "You're on."

"Stiles? Can you come to my house in like an hour?"

Stiles nodded and Derek translated, "He said he could. Now, are you done?"

"I gue--"

Derek hung up the phone and tossed it on Stiles' bed. That. . . that made fear rise within Stiles. What if he needed to call someone because Derek had gone crazy? And he couldn't do that because Derek threw his phone far out of his reach.

"Stiles," Derek's voice was hard, "answer me this time. Did anything happen to you in the last two days?" He glared down at Stiles, hands resting on the arms of the computer chair, leaning in close to Stiles. His nostrils flared, scenting the air, and a confused look crossed his face. Derek pulled away from Stiles and stepped halfway across the room and stayed there for a moment.

Stiles listened to his erratic heartbeat and watched again as Derek re-assumed his position over Stiles. Derek scented the air again, his brow furrowing, and, again, he backed up. His eyes shone with some understanding before flashing red.

Stiles flinched into his seat when he saw the red eyes and the action was not lost on Derek. The alpha's eyes widened, shocked. Stiles gripped the edge of the arm rests on his chair as Derek slowly, palms open, backed to the bed and picked up Stiles' phone. He then carefully set it on the edge of the desk and shuffled backwards to the window. He then jumped out and Stiles felt himself relax.

A few moments later, his phone buzzed with a new text, "Erica says she'll be at your house tomorrow morning."

Stiles tapped out, "Thanks! I'll get the croissants ready!" his reply was cheery, but his heartbeat was freaking out and he was sweating profusely. He kept telling himself that he was fine, that he was home.

An hour later, he re-applied the body spray and headed to Scott's house. When Scott answered the door, his nose crinkled, "Dude, you reek of cheap body spray."

Stiles just shrugged, his pulse speeding up a tad because he was in close proximity to a werewolf again.

"Oh yeah, you can't talk," Scott lead him to the kitchen where Ms. McCall was flipping through a magazine in her scrubs, "Hey Mom!"

She looked up, "Hey Stiles, how was the family trip?"

Stiles gave her a thumbs up, grateful that she was there, and his nerves calmed a little. She frowned.

"Stiles lost his voice and I was wondering if you knew any ways to get it back?" Scott supplied, giving his mother puppy dog eyes.

Melissa McCall's eyes rolled at her son, then her face split in a grin, "Are you telling me that you miss his sarcastic and witty remarks?"

Scott half-nodded, half shook his head, "Do you?"

She got up, "Well, usually honey works pretty well, as long as he doesn't try to use it during the healing process. Also, he'll have to drink a lot of water over the next few days." She started to pull a teacup from the cabinet and filled a kettle with water, "I'll make you some tea so you don't have to drink straight honey in water."

Scott nodded, "While she does that, I'm going to go get that book we have to read over break. You have to see this ridiculous part in there!" He raced back up to his room to do so.

Melissa looked at Stiles, "Are you alright, Stiles? You look a little worse for wear."

Stiles nodded and gave her two thumbs up.

"If you need anything, though, you'll let me know right?"

A lump formed in his throat. He nodded again. After a few more minutes of silence, only interrupted by the kettle screaming, Scott came down with the book his hand.

"Sorry, I left it under my laundry-- which I will do as soon as Stiles leaves, I promise, Mom, and I couldn't find it."

Ms. McCall handed Stiles the tea with the honey already stirred in as Scott began reading a section from the book for English class.

Stiles and Scott hung out for a good two hours, playing Super Mario Kart, watching some television and eating some junk food. On the second bowl of popcorn emptying, Stiles typed out, "I've got to get going.

Dad says I have to make something other than salad for dinner."

Scott smiled, "Yeah sure! No problem!" They walked to the door and Scott opened it for Stiles, "Hey, why was Derek trying to get you to tell him if something happened during your vacation? Did something happen?"

Stiles stared at Scott, wishing he could tell his best friend that:

1\. Gerard was, in fact, not dead.

2\. He was still trying to get an alpha's bite.

3\. Kidnapped, beat, raped, and tortured Stiles.

And 4. Took away Stiles' ability to trust any werewolf.

Instead he just shrugged and gestured, saying that Stiles would talk to him later.

Scott's eyes looked worried, "Okay," he watched Stiles head down the driveway to his Jeep, "You'd tell me if something did happen, right?"

An image of himself shoving screwdrivers into a werewolf's eye sockets came to his mind. Stiles smiled at him, giving a slight nod. God, gestures were so much easier to lie through.

His best friend smiled and waved him off. Stiles drove in the direction of his house on Scott's street, and then, as soon as he was out of sight from any vantage point of Scott's house, he directed his car toward the animal clinic.

  
Dr. Deaton was kind of annoying, well, to Stiles he was. The guy gave ambiguous answers to straight foreword questions, who does that? Also, he was some kind of Dumbledore status wizard or something because the guy knew things that he really shouldn't. Regardless, he would be helpful.

"You lost your voice?" Deaton asked, just as disbelieving as everyone else was.

Stiles sighed, really done with everyone's shit about losing his voice, and kept typing things on Deaton's computer. He typed out as much as he was willing to give information on, so only the first night, the last night, and Gerard's theory. There was no way in Heaven, Hell or Purgatory he was going to tell Deaton about the second night, he had enough shame as it was, "Is that possible?" He finished, hands hovering over the keyboard.

Deaton frowned, and that was never good, "Stiles, if what you're telling me is true, then we need to tell Derek."

Stiles shook his head, arms swinging in front of him, mouthing, "No!" And shit, he just inadvertently told Deaton that there was more to the story than Stiles gave. He put his head in his hands, chastising himself.

"Stiles-" He put his hand on Stiles shoulder and Stiles immediately jerked back, eyes wide and flinching because ow. He had bite marks there, "Stiles, are you injured?"

He thought about lying, he thought about shaking his head and acting like nothing happened and leaving. Instead, he dragged his hoodie, plaid shirt, and t-shirt off his torso. Stiles saw the way Deaton's jaw fell open and then clenched shut. His head hung in degradation, away from Deaton.

"Are you in pain from all those?"

Shrugging, Stiles thought about how many times he had to pretend that his body didn't hurt, being slammed into many vertical surfaces, nearly clawed to death by his best friend, holding up a werewolf for two hours in a pool, Gerard kidnapping him from his lacrosse game, etc. He could have almost ruefully chuckled about pain and him were becoming regular pals, or that he was used to it by then.

"And you won't tell Derek about these?" Stiles shook his head, Deaton sighed, "Can I at least check for infections?" Stiles looked wary, he really didn't want to be touched, "I won't hurt you, your dad would murder me." Deaton grinned, trying to take the edge off the moment.

Eventually, after much thought deliberation, Stiles agreed. Deaton had him sit on a cold, metal stool while he circled around Stiles with gloved hands and a keen eye.

"You know," Deaton tried, conversationally, "maybe you can challenge Derek to the Silent Game and win, considering how much you kids say he doesn't talk. You'd probably win, too."

Stiles huffed out laughter, then winced as a little too much pressure was applied to the stitched up bite on his side. The vet then asked him to stand up and take off his pants to check the other bites. He didn't even realize he should be embarrassed in front of the vet, because he was human, he was safe, but he forgot about the clearly fingerprint bruises and claw pricks on his hips.

Deaton's jaw clenched, then released. He did that a few more times until he could finally talk, "At least tell Scott."

Stiles picked out his phone from his jeans, "You know I can't do that."

The vet opened his mouth to convince the teenager otherwise, but the bell above the door rang in the front. "Wait here." He left to the front, and said, a little too loudly just for Stiles' benefit, "Well hello, Derek. What brings you in?"

Derek! Shit! Stiles quickly started yanking on his jeans, his t-shirt, plaid shirt and hoodie, and through it all, he kept asking himself why the fuck he had so many God damn clothes. Derek must have known that Stiles was there, his fucking Jeep was parked out front, and his heartbeat was going to kill him with how fast it was beating. Just as he had pulled his shirt hems down, covering any possible skin, Derek and Deaton walked into the exam room. Stiles knew he was leaking fear everywhere, and it had him rooted in one place.

Derek immediately searched Stiles' being, and before he could ask what Stiles was doing there, Deaton spoke up, "Here is that mountain ash you wanted," he pulled a jar full of the dark powder from under the examination table, along with a leather bag, "and let me just get you those other herbs you asked about."

"Herbs?" Derek asked, eyes never leaving Stiles.

Deaton nodded, "For his throat and his father's health, Stiles is very worried about him going into cardiac arrest," he pulled unmarked bottles from the shelves in the cabinets and carefully put them in the leather bag, along with the mountain ash. He then wrote down something on a piece of paper and put that directly in Stiles' hand, "Do as I wrote down, and all should be fine. Come by tomorrow and tell me how it went."

Stiles swallowed dryly, nodding. He took the bag and held it tight against his chest. He made to go out the front door, which was behind Derek, but had a hard time pushing past the 'Werewolf! Do not approach! Dangerous!' threat level going off in his head. After a split second, Stiles pushed past the warning and skirted around Derek's body to the exit.

As Stiles was almost out the door, he heard Derek ask, "Something happened to Stiles."

Inside his Jeep, his heart was slowly going back to a near-common pace. Once he pulled into his driveway and raced back inside, he read the note Deaton gave him, that had been crushed in his palm all the way from the clinic. It said, "All the names are on the inside of the caps. Boil the calamus in water and gargle it for your throat. Rub the aloe on your bites. Give your dad some saffron tea before dinner. You know how to use mountain ash. Go talk to Chris Argent, he can help you. Stay safe."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stiles' Jeep really needs a name, an ACTUAL name. Like how my Blazer is Ivan the Awesome, my sister's Custom Century is Elmer, and my friend Cami's Suburban is Bertha.
> 
> Also, the Camaro needs a name too.


	5. Youth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Batman and Catwoman reunite!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song of the chapter is Youth by Daughter.
> 
> Also, I am a bit of a douche-nozzle for not posting this yesterday, oops!

The boredum was palapable in Stiles' room and everything inside his room was dimly lit by the streetlight outside. His window was unlocked, that's what he got for having werewolf friends: broken locks, and he could hear the night noises around him. Wind rustling the trees, cars speeding by his house, and a light thump of feet on his roof. It was around two in the morning and he had not fallen asleep yet. Warily, Stiles tilted his head on his pillow so he could see the window and he saw two alpha red eyes.  
  
Derek pulled himself through the window, feet landing softly on the floor, and he scanned the room quickly. Red eyes landed on Stiles, and they widened a little. There was a small huff, and the soft hush of hands sliding past denim, "I thought you'd be asleep."  
  
Stiles watched, heart racing, but he told himself to chill out. There was a glue and mountain ash ring around his bed, and the chances of him actually getting up were the same as Gerard living to see his next birthday. Therefore, he lay there, watching Derek shuffle around his room, audibly sniffing, before he sat down in the computer chair, tentatively.  
  
A silence settled over the two of them, Stiles watching Derek, Derek avoiding his gaze. Eventually, much later than Stiles would have let the silence drag on for if he had his voice, Derek commented on the smells in his room, "It smells like aloe, Icy Hot, ibuprophen, and pain in here. A lot of pain, and blood. It's small, but it's still there."  
  
The human just stared at him, unmoving.  
  
Derek gritted out, like it physically pained him to get the words out, "If you won't tell me what happened, at least let me manage the effects of it."  
  
The silent 'why' hung in the air, and Derek picked up on it.  
  
"I don't like having debts," the werewolf awkardly shifted in the chair, a little squak escaping it, "so can I do that much, at least?"  
  
"No." Stiles' voice wasn't all back, but the calamus stuff had really helped. It at least got him to be able to project sound with his lip movements, and it took away a bit of the rough scratching up and down his throat.  
  
Derek's glowing alpha eyes narrowed, "Why not?"  
  
"Mine."  
  
And Derek froze, eyes wide. Stiles guessed that everytime he offered the pain-seeper to someone they jumped on the chance, and that he was the first person to not only deny Derek, but to say that the pain was his and his alone. A growl rose within Derek's chest, not a menacing one, probably an irritated one, but it still made Stiles tense up, nonetheless.  
  
Fear was oozing out of Stiles, hands clutched at the bedspread on his stomach, "Would you fucking stop that?!" Derek snapped, a little too loudly and he cocked his head to listen for the sheriff's breathing, "I"m not going to hurt you! No matter how much you piss me off, I will not hurt you, understand?"  
  
Stiles was still, body still tense, as he watched Derek sigh exasperatedly and get up to flip the light switch. Light flooded his vision, making his pupils hurt a little with the sudden snap to attention. He could see Derek's jaw flexing, like he had taffy sticking his teeth together.  
  
"There! You can see me, now would you quit with the fear leaking?"  
  
Snail-pace slow, Stiles relaxed his fingers and sat up in his bed, legs crossed under him. He was about to tell Derek to go away so he could sleep, a lie, but Derek spoke before him.  
  
"Where is your pain?"  
  
Uh, nope, Stiles was not letting that happen. He glared and shook his head. Derek, frustrated, probably on the verge of giving up, tried to step foreword, but was hit with the mountain ash barrier. His jaw clenched, nostrils flaring.  
  
"Stiles, I already told you I wasn't going to hurt you."  
  
The teenager still wasn't buying it.  
  
The pair of them stayed that way, in a tense battle of 'let me help you' and 'no werewolf boy,' so far, Stiles was winning. He couldn't help it when a smirk found it's way onto his face a little while later after Derek circled every possible inch of the bed for a way past it. Stiles, however, got a little too comfortable and reached for the glass of water his dad put by his bedstand, out of the barrier's reach, before he turned in, and Derek seized the opportunity.  
  
The alpha grabbed Stiles' wrist, not tightly, but enough for him to start sucking pain out, and at first he was triumphant about it. His veins took on the black-like color and then he was physically reeling back from Stiles, shocked, "How. . . ?" Derek tried.  
  
In answer, Stiles headed to his bathroom, pulled two allergy pills from their box, walked back to his room and displayed them for Derek, Vanna White style. He then popped them into his mouth and chugged some water. After, he flicked his lights off and climbed under his covers again.  
  
It's not that he actually wanted to sleep, he would much rather avoid it, really, but Derek needed to take a hint and go away. So there he was, waiting for the drowsiness of allergy medicine to kick in and take him to sleep, which would be plagued by nightmares, he was sure. Derek was still in the room, Stiles could see his outline from the streetlight and his eyes, and he was just standing there.  
  
Fifteen minutes passed and Stiles' eyelids were drooping. They slipped closed and he was in the state of half-awake, half-asleep when he heard Derek quietly say something.  
  
"I'll find out what's giving you so much pain eventually, Stiles, you know that, and when I do. . ." there was a sigh, "I don't know how to fix this if you won't let me help you."  
  
Stiles barely managed a word before he completely fazed out, "Mine."  
  
  
He was trapped inside of a box with sharp claws poking out on all sides, and the box was steadily getting smaller around him. Stiles tried to push on the edges, but he ended up getting his hands sliced open in the process.  
  
There was blood everywhere, dripping and forming a pool in the shrinking box. Stiles thought he was going to drown in his own blood or he was going to be impaled by claws. Luckily, he was given a rough shake and a female voice called his name.  
  
Honey eyes snapped open, chest heaving, as he looked up at Erica, who had her eyebrows knitted together in concern, "Stiles! I've been trying to wake you up for an entire minute. Did you not hear me?"  
  
Stiles shook his head, slowly pulling the covers off his sweat-damp body. He headed to the bathroom, to brush his teeth and use the toilet, and when he came back, Erica was sniffing the air worridly.  
  
He awkwardy gestured to his bed for them to sit on and she sat next to him. Stiles studied her, he hadn't seen her in about a mouth and a half. Her blonde hair was perfectly in place and there was no scratch or scar on her body, werewolf's were lucky. but underneath all that, her eyes looked worn out, like there was nothing that could freak her out any longer. If Stiles had to venture a guess, he would say that she was resigned to something, he couldn't pinpoint what, but he had a guess that it wasn't anything good.  
  
Her hands were clasped in her lap, "Stiles, how are you? And don't give me the same shit you've been giving to everyone else since the big lacrosse game. Tell me, how are you really?"  
  
Stiles knew that he couldn't lie to her, she was there when he got his ass kicked by Gerard the first time, but he also knew that he couldn't risk telling her what happened. He pulled his phone from his nightstand, "Nightmares sometimes, but I'll be fine."  
  
"You were having one when I got here, and Derek said you were having them last night too."  
  
Stiles' head snapped up. Derek had stayed long enough for him to see Stiles go into REM sleep?  
  
"He wanted to make sure you were okay." She leaned back, casually, "He also said that you put a mountain ash ring around your bed to keep him away."  
  
Hey, he did. Wait, then why wasn't it working now? Bending foreword, he examined the line running around the bed and saw the culprit: his dad's footprint in the thin line. His dad must have come in, shuffled his feet around, like he sometimes does, enough times to break the glue line, it was only Elmer's, and went on his merry way without realizing what he did.  
  
"It broke, huh?"  
  
He sighed, nodding, "How are you, then?"  
  
Smiling tightly, she flipped her hair over her shoulders, "Just fine."  
  
"What happened?"  
  
"Nothing I couldn't handle."  
  
She wouldn't budge past that, it was written all over her face, so he changed the subject, "Is that the only reason you came over? To see how I was? Or did you come here because you've finally decided to leave Boyd in favor of all this?" He gestured to himself ridiculously, eyebrows waggling.  
  
A laugh escaped her throat, "Boyd would have your hide if he knew you said that!"  
  
Unconsciously, he stiffened.  
  
"Whoa! What was that for? I didn't really mean that, it was , you know, metaphorical. Boyd would never purposely hurt you, you know that." Stiles nodded, his body relaxing. Erica took one of his hands in hers and held it, "Derek said that you smell like pain, a lot of pain, and blood. While he isn't wrong, you also smell like sadness and anger."  
  
Stiles made a face.  
  
"I know you don't like when we sniff you, but I need to know, Batman, what can I do to help get rid of that smell."  
  
Stiles looked at their hands, her thumb was stroking over his knuckles, and it dawned on him. He wasn't afraid of being near Erica, a werewolf, but he was afraid of being near Derek, and he was uneasy around Scott. Using his powers of deduction, he found out that it was because there were no females during those nights. Erica was a girl, and that meant that she was safe.  
  
His shoulders relaxed fully and he rested his head on her shoulder, "Just let it pass, Catwoman."  
  
As soon as she read that, her fingers tightened on his, "I can't just do that! You're my friend and I want to help you! Derek wants to help you! Why won't you let us take away some of your pain?"  
  
"It's mine."  
  
"Derek said you said that last night, too. Which was after he got a snippet of it from you. I asked him how bad it was, and do you know what he said?" She didn't wait for Stiles to say anything, "He said that it was excruciating and he didn't understand how you're still standing with it."  
  
"Pain is all in the head, my dear."  
  
"Stiles! I'm trying to be serious here!"  
  
"So am I." After she read that, he typed out a long explanation, "Pain is all in our heads, that's why everyone has a different pain tolerance. If someone says that getting hit with a baseball hurts like a bitch, then when you get hit by one, you'll automatically say it was hurt like a bitch. Well, most of the time. Monks in China have learned to suppress their pain so much that they can balance on the tips of spears by their stomachs and have bricks broken on top of them while they lay on beds of nails. Now, I'm not saying that I'm a Chinese monk, but I am saying that running around with werewolves has taught me to keep my pain to myself. I learned to push it aside and keep going because I am human. Holy shit balls, this would be so much easier to say."  
  
Erica's lips quirked up at the end, and then, "You know Scott, Boyd, Derek and I don't hold that against you, right? I can't say anything for Peter, Jackson, or Issac, because I don't know, but I would think they feel the same way. Being human isn't bad, alright? But neither is not telling anyone something hurts."  
  
Stiles nodded, half believing the human bit. Derek sure seemed like he held Stiles being human against him. Hell, he often liked to display that he was stronger, faster, better than Stiles was, if all the shoving into walls and steering wheels were anything to go by.  
  
"Anyway, I wanted to make sure you were okay. Something didn't feel right two days ago."  
  
"Derek said that too. What do you mean by that?"  
  
"I can't say anything about how Derek felt, but when you were gone I didn't feel right. I woke up in the middle of the night needing to puke for two days, and I somehow thought it was something concerning you. Everytime I thought I would hurl, nothing came out, but the nasty feeling stayed in my stomach until dawn." Erica paused, "Did Scott say anything about something like that?"  
  
Stiles shook his head, but he did realize how weird it was for Scott to want to invite him over so soon after getting back from a trip. Usually, they let each other rest for a day before calling each other over. Also, he realized, Scott didn't let Stiles out of his sight for most of the time they spent together, and his eyes were always trained on Stiles' person. It was as if he was searching for an explanation, or that he was making sure Stiles was still there.  
  
"At any rate," Erica sighed, standing up, "I just wanted to make sure that you were alright," she moved toward Stiles, unsure.  
  
Stiles stood up next to her, catching on, and wrapped his arms around her shoulders, giving her a tight squeeze. "You're a good person, Catwoman," Stiles rapsed out.  
  
Erica pulled back and punched him lightly on the arm, "You're not so bad yourself, Batman." They smiled at their nicknames, then, "Stiles? You'll tell me if this," she gestured to his bed and him, "gets any worse, right?"  
  
Stiles nodded, giving a not-so-convincing smile. She gave his hand one last squeeze and then she was dashing out the window. He couldn't help but think, as she landed on the grass below, that he had a front door and she was welcome to use it. Hell, all the werewolves he knew could use it.  
  
  
He kept telling himself that it was just a doorbell, it wasn't going to hurt him. It was just a doorbell. . . that was attatched to a very scary, very threatening, badass, handsome, werewolf hunter that had a crazy father. Gulping, Stiles sucked it up and pushed the bell. Moments later, Allison answered the door, looking as beautiful as ever.  
  
"Stiles?" she looked around behind him, "What are you doing here?"  
  
Coming prepared was severely underrated, in Stiles' mute opinion, and he held out his phone for her to read, "Hey Allison! I lost my voice, hence the phone, and I was wondering if your dad was home?"  
  
"My dad? Why do you need him?"  
  
He skipped ahead in his pre-planned responses, "I need to ask him some things."  
  
"Uh sure," she frowned, "Come in, and I'll go get him." She walked off into the house and he stuffed his hands in his pockets waiting for her.  
  
As Stiles was contemplating just bolting out the door, Chris Argent and Allison returned, "Mr. Stilinski," he nodded and Stiles held up a hand in a wave, "Allison tells me that you want to talk to me, as well as that you have lost your voice." He smiled, "Not much talking will be going on then, I suppose."  
  
"Dad," Allison warned, "be nice."  
  
"I apologize," Chris held out his hands, "let's talk in the living room." They headed to the comfortable couches and sat down. Allison stood awkwardly at the edge of the couch.  
  
"I'll be up in my room if you need me, both of you."  
  
They nodded and Stiles watched her leave and waited until he could hear footsteps above his head before locking eyes with Chris Argent. Truthfully, when Stiles had been driving to the house, he had an outline of what he was going to say, how he was going to say it, and all these other things, but as soon as he was there, he realized he couldn't remember any of it.  
  
"Could I offer you a drink?" Chris ventured, equally unsure.  
  
Stiles began to shake his head, and then changed for a vigorous nod, "Could I have some very hot water and honey, with a spoon?" Chris looked at him oddly, but aquiesed to the request. Minutes later, Stiles was pulling out the bottle of calamus and pouring a little into the hot water with honey already poured in it. He used the spoon to stir it up and had the cup halfway to his mouth when Chris asked, "What did you put in there?"  
  
Stiles pushed the cap of the bottle to him as he drank. The stuff was magic on the throat and he would praise Deaton everyday for giving it to him. He set the cup down and scrolled through his phone to a very long message. Stiles then held it out for Chris to take, which he did, and he waited while the older man read the gist of Gerard's escapades.  
  
"And he said this to you?" Mr. Argent asked, looking up from the phone, finished, "He said that he was using bitten hunters to try to make an alpha?" Stiles nodded and watched as he put his face in his hands. While Chris tried to wrap his head around his father's antics, Stiles downed the last of his tea and waited. "And he tried to use you as the guniea pig bite subject?"  
  
Stiles had not explicity said that he was the guinea pig, but it was implied pretty heavily, so he just nodded at the man.  
  
"Do you know where he is now?"  
  
Stiles shook his head.  
  
"Thank you, Stiles, really, for tell me this. I'll have to be on guard for when he does come back to town, and thanks to you, I'll be ready."  
  
Chris got up to escort Stiles out, thinking they were finished, but Stiles held up a hand. He retrieved his phone from where Chris Argent had put it on the table and scrolled through his planned messages to the one he was most conflicted about writing, "There's one more thing. I am asking you, and you can say no, to teach me some basic fighting moves."  
  
"You want to know how to fight? Like a human or a werewolf?"  
  
Stiles held up two fingers, skipping to another message, "I don't know if I was chosen because I'm human or because he has some personal beef with me, but I want to be able to protect myself when he does come back. Even if it's not for me."  
  
Mr. Argent nodded, "Of course, uhm," he looked around, "I'll have to see when I can help you, but I should be able to tell you by tomorrow. That sound okay?"  
  
Stiles nodded vigorously and they rose for Stiles to leave. The last message on his phone read, "Thank you so much for this, and I'll try not to break things."  
  
"No problem," they reached the door and Chris stuck out his hand for Stiles to shake it. Stiles took his hand and they shook, "If I may ask, and I hope I'm not being rude, but how did you get out of a cage full of twelve rabid omegas?"  
  
The teenager's hand dropped to his side and he smiled tightly, almost like a grimace, and left the house with a final wave. He felt a little better, in the fact that he would be able to learn some proper defense moves, and that Chris Argent, badass, handsome, werewolf hunter, was in the know about his father.  
  
  
Back in Deaton's clinic, after hours, Stiles was having his wounds looked over again. Well, the ones below his hips because there had been an interruption the first time. Deaton was going over the stitches on his thigh when he spoke, "Derek's really worried about you."  
  
Stiles scoffed, he really couldn't imagine Derek really worried, possibly begrudgingly concerned, but never worried.  
  
"Really," Deaton moved to the next bite farther down his legs, "He wanted to know if I had told you anything and I had to circle talk him around the truth." Stiles laughed, liking that Deaton admitted that he spoke weirdly, "Well, you've taken very good care of them and I don't think I'll have to fix them up, but just keep an eye on them for a few days and keep rubbing aloe on them."  
  
Nodding, Stiles picked up his clothes and started to put them back on. He was thinking about how much easier it was to sneak around town when he didn't have school to worry about. It was nice, no Harris, no homework, no werewolves trying to lock him in the school. God, he loved summer vacation.  
  
"How is the calamus treatment?" Deaton's voice cut through his thinking abruptly. He noticed that Deaton turned away while he was dressing, which was nice, and only turned back when he was sure Stiles was done, even nicer.  
  
Stiles held up the 'okay' sign used in scuba diving and smiled. "How long will it take to get my voice completely back?" he wrote on a piece of paper on they had been using since the exam started.  
  
"Only a few more days, a week maximum. As long as you haven't torn your vocal chords beyond repair, but I don't think you'll have to worry about that. It just sounds and looks like you over-exerted your voice and scratched it raw. You'll be able to talk very soon, I guarantee."  
  
Beaming, Stiles pumped his fist in the air once, just as a darkly handsome werewolf came in the back door. Welp, time for Stiles to hit the road, and he was almost to the door when Derek put a hand softly on his shoulder. Regardless of how soft it was, it could have been a fucking cloud for God's sakes, he jumped and was instantly on alert.  
  
"Derek," Deaton warned, "I advise you not to touch Mr. Stilinski without his permission."  
  
Derek's eyes were confused, then they faded into a commanding stare, "Stiles, we need to talk about--"  
  
The teenager shook his head firmly and backed out the door. Nope, nope, nope. He was not going to talk to Derek. Derek was an alpha with red eyes, sharp teeth, bloodlust. Derek was a werewolf. Derek was a man. It just wasn't going to happen, even if he did have a witness.  
  
"Mr. Stilinski has had a long day, Derek. Let him leave." Stiles thanked Deaton with gestures and his eyes, "Make sure your father keeps drinking the saffron once a week, at least, and here is something to help you stay asleep throught the night." He handed Stiles another bottle of mixed herbs, "Good-bye, Mr. Stilinski." Deaton called as Stiles was bolting out the door to his Jeep.  
  
Stiles knew that there would be a time and place to tell Derek snippets of what happened, but it was not that time. Maybe it'd only be time when Stiles was graduated from college, or in his eighties, or never. He also knew that sooner or later, Derek would get fed up with Stiles dodging his every question and force Stiles to tell him. He shuddered, he didn't want anyone forcing him to do anything ever again.  
  
Derek was only trying to help, he acknowledged that, but Stiles didn't think he deserved or wanted his help. Life didn't work that way for him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Teen Wolf is the reason I now have a Life Ruiner list of people BECAUSE THE ENTIRE CAST IS ON IT!


	6. Bleeding Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Greenberg is kind of a creep, and Finstock is crazy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title is Bleeding Out by Imagine Dragons. Seriously my favorite song by them, hands down.
> 
> Finstock is wonderful and I just want to have a mini Finstock that bitches all day and I call him Cupcake.

It was three-thirty in the morning and Stiles was walking around his house as quietly as possible, unable and unwilling to sleep. He knew Deaton gave him the sleeping stuff, but what if the stuff still had him dreaming and he couldn't wake up from it? What if he was trapped in his own  head until it wore off? He wasn't brave enough to find out until he asked those questions to Deaton.  
  
Therefore, there he was, shuffling softly around his father's door for, what felt like, the hundredth time that night and slowly making his way around to the kitchen, living room, and back to his room. About an hour prior, he contemplated going outside and circling the block, but he didn't want to have an accidental repeat of. . .  
  
He reached his room once again and went inside at the same time Derek was hopping through the window. They both froze, Stiles in fear and Derek in confusion.  
  
"Shouldn't you be asleep?"  
  
Stiles slowly shut his door and turned on the light, his retinas burned at the sudden change. His feet skirted around Derek, giving him a good three foot radius around the werewolf, to his desk chair. Plopping down, he grabbed the white board and wrote out, "What do you want?"  
  
"I asked you a question first," Derek said childishly.  
  
"Too fucking bad." Stiles wasn't taking any of his shit, "What do you want?"  
  
"Nothing," and that was the 'nothing' that rang with a thousand reasons why he was there. Derek could tell Stiles knew that and wouldn't meet his eyes. He was also substaintially pissed at being blindsided by Stiles' fury at him and didn't really know how to react to that. The alpha tried breathing to calm himself and not cause himself to lash out at the teenager, and in the process, he caught hints of fear, heavy herbs, and very strong, negative emotions, "Why do you smell like that?"  
  
Stiles waved his hand, clearly telling him to elaborate on what exactly he was talking about.  
  
"Like. . ." Derek searched for the words, "an apothecary threw up on you, like resentment and anger-- no hatred."  
  
"Twelve words, I'm impressed." Stiles jeered, then licked his lips, "Am I not allowed to try to get my voice back or have hate toward things and people? Or is that strictly reserved for werewolves?"  
  
He rolled his eyes at the teenager, "You can do what you want and hate whoever and whatever you want." Silence settled over them for a good ten minutes. The alpha totally expected the quiet to be broken by the hyperactive teenager, but then he rememberd that the aforementioned teenager couldn't use his voice.  
  
Stiles was, however, getting restless with the silence as well, "First you tell me I smell like pain, then apothecary shops, resentment, and hatred. What's next? Gonna tell me I smell like Teen Spirit?" Stiles could do it, he could re-teach himself not to be afraid of Derek.  
  
The werewolf's mouth twitched in a semblance of a smile, "That's a girl's deodorant."  
  
"Congratulations."  
  
"Go to sleep."  
  
"No."  
  
"Deaton gave you stuff so you could go to sleep, take them."  
  
"Why?"  
  
"Stiles."  
  
"Gonna tie me up and make me do it?"  
  
Derek was taken a back by that. He physically recoiled a bit, as if he had been slapped, "I would never do that, you know that."  
  
Of course Stiles did. That's what Kate Argent did to him, what Gerard Argent did to Stiles. Suddenly, the urge to tell someone, anyone, that knew the extent of Gerard's malevolence became almost impossibly strong. His fingers itched to write the story down on the whiteboard and he felt Derek watching his jaw set and the uncertainty in his being.  
  
"Stiles," Derek's voice was softer and closer. He was crouched in front of Stiles, a hand hovering above his knee, "you do know that, right?"  
  
Before Stiles could swallow the forming lump in his throat, his father lightly knocked on his door.  "Stiles? Are you still up?" Derek was jumping behind the door as Stiles sat frozen in his chair.  
  
The door opened a foot or two, "Stiles?" the sheriff pushed his head in and shook it, forgetting, once again, that his son couldn't talk, "sorry, forgot you couldn't answer yet. What are you still doing up?"  
  
Stiles pulled himself together, "Couldn't sleep. You?"  
  
"Bathroom."  
  
Stiles nodded, "I'll turn off the light and climb in my bed soon, don't worry."  
  
"Please do, I don't want you going anywhere tired. You know that driving tired is like driving with a point oh-seven blood alcohol level, right?"  
  
"So you've said."  
  
"Okay, well I'll see you later. Go to bed."  
  
"Later, Dad."  
  
His dad closed the door and Derek watched Stiles do as he said he would. Stiles took a pinch of the magical sleeping herbs and swallowed them with a glass of water. He then switched his lights off and crawled into bed, limbs suddenly heavy.  
  
Derek was still there, watching him, even as he crept to the bed and sat on the edge, "You know I'll find out, and in the meantime, I can pester you like you pester me sometimes."  
  
Stiles sort of caught the words and reached blindly for Derek's hand. He patted it twice, lightly, and then the herbs took their toll and Stiles' hand rested on top of Derek's until the werewolf was sure Stiles was asleep. The werewolf then slowly stroked Stiles frail, human hand and set it on the mattress next to his body. Derek then climbed out the window, back into the solitude of the night.  
  
  
Stiles woke up to 'Hungry Like a Wolf' blasting by his head. Blindly, he slapped his hand around until he found his cell phone and answered the call by blowing into it.  
  
"Stiles! At least, I hope you this is you," Scott paused, probably listening closely, "yep, it's you! Anyway, Finstock wanted to get the lacrosse team together for a summer training thing. He said that he doesn't want to suck next year and then something about Greenberg, so you in?"  
  
Tiredly, Stiles turned on his computer while Scott talked and when he needed an answer, Stiles found a video of someone saying his answer, "Yes!" a cheerful woman's voice answered, very happy about something or other.  
  
Scott's voice had the hint of a smile in it, "Okay, awesome. Glad you found something to help you communicate with while your voice is AWOL," there was a rustle of something in the background then, "So, it's from noon to four at the field. Finstock says to come ready to go or he'll make it all suicides, and could I get a ride with you?"  
  
Hitting the replay button, Stiles answered via the video.  
  
"Cool, so I'll see you in an hour-ish?"  
  
Again, Stiles played the video.  
  
"See you then!" And Scott hung up.  
  
Stiles pulled himself to the bathroom and examined the contusions and wounds under his pajamas. They still hurt a little, especially the ones near his ribs, but they looked well on their way to healing. The welts from the first night were already turning an ugly green, the bruises from the second night were smaller and therefore already yellowing, and the bites and claw streaks were healing properly. The two that had stitches were close to being taken out of the stitches, for that, he was thankful.  
  
He turned around to see the extent of his back and found that many of the bruises and scratches there were larger and fewer. When he first examined himself, he didn't really pay attention to his back, but he saw that there was damage on there as well. The contusions looked horrible on his pale skin, but he was thankful that he didn't take off his shirt a lot.  
  
Regardless, Stiles went through his morning routine, sans shower because he was just going to get sweaty and gross anway, and bounded down the steps to the kitchen. His dad was in the kitchen drinking coffee and purusing the fridge when Stiles sat at the counter.  
  
"You would think that after checking the fridge for the fourth time, I would realize that there is nothing that is readily available to eat." The sheriff sighed and turned to his son, "Did you get to sleep last night, or this morning?"  
  
Stiles nodded and gestured toward his father in a 'Did you?' gesture.  
  
"Yeah, I got back to sleep for three hours, went into the office until fifteen minutes ago, and now I'm trying to find something to eat before going back."  
  
Stiles got up and rummaged through the cabinets and fridge. He produced all the fixings for a sandwich and immediately made his father the healthiest sandwich he could muster. Setting it in front of his father, he grabbed some energy bars and stuffed them in his pockets.  
  
"Thanks," his dad examined the meal and conspiratorily looked to the fridge, probably to see if he could sneak on some mayonaisse or something equally as bad, "going somewhere?"  
  
Stiles nodded and mimed lacrosse movements and a puppy face.  
  
"Season doesn't start for another ten months or so, and aren't you two doing cross country? Shouldn't you be running long distances instead?"  
  
Shrugging, Stiles tried to do his best Finstock charade.  
  
"Sometimes I think Finstock is losing it."  
  
Stiles laughed, a little sound coming out, and nodded.  
  
"Be safe, alright? And I promise to do the same." He then muttered into the bread, "because paperwork is so dangerous."  
  
Patting his father's back empathetically, Stiles gathered his lacrosse gear and headed to his Jeep. The drive over to Scott's he wondered how they weren't going to die in the heat. It was already around seventy-five and it wasn't the hottest part of the day yet, so that afternoon was going to suck.  
  
Scott seemed to agree too, "So since it's already hot and it's only going to get hotter, today is going to suck major balls. Why couldn't Finstock have scheduled this for later in the day, like seven or something?"  
  
Stiles patted his friend's shoulder, and in that pat, Stiles realized that he was becoming alright with Scott again. Scott was his buddy, his best friend, his bro, and he would never hurt Stiles. He mentally relaxed.  
  
A few moments passed and then Scott said, "Your scent just changed. Like it smelt like you were scared and now it's more like you're. . . I don't know. . . not scared?" Scott frowned, "Finstock's terrifying sometimes, but it's nothing to get worked up over."  
  
Stiles blinked at the road ahead of him, trying not to convey anything that would belie what Scott said.  
  
"Sorry," Scott amended, "I know you don't like it when I sniff you like that."  
  
Thankfully, Stiles pulled into the parking lot at that moment. He smiled at Scott and they both hopped out, gathered their gear, and headed to the field. Jackson, Danny, Greenberg, Issac, Finstock, and everyone else was already there.  
  
"McCall! Stilinski!" Finstock bellowed across the field, "You're late!"  
  
Scott checked his phone, "You said noon! It's only eleven fifty!"  
  
"Everyone else is here, so you should be too!"  
  
Jackson smirked behind Finstock and watched them approach with cool eyes. Danny looked bored, but smiled a little as they apporached. Issac gave a wave to Scottt, but not to Stiles. Greenberg eyed Stiles critically, like there was something wrong with his face.  
  
Stiles tossed his stuff down and pulled out an energy bar when Finstock summoned him. "Stilinski! Get over here!" Stiles walked over, chewing, "Because of your unexpectedly outstanding performance last season, I expect you to be first line next season; therefore, you're going to practice like you are."  
  
Nodding, Stiles kept chewing, glancing to Jackson's unhappy face.  
  
"Keep up with Jackson and Scott, can you do that?"  
  
He nodded again, Jesus, no talking was really a pain in the ass.  
  
"You gonna answer me, Stilinski, or are you going to reenact a bobblehead all day?"  
  
Scott's voice rose from behind them, "He lost his voice, Coach."  
  
"What? How the hell did you do that? No, you know what? Nevermind." He blew his whistle, "Ten laps around the field! Let's go!"  
  
And so it went. They ran, did full field suicides and ply-outs, and practiced passing for a good half hour. When the heat reached it's maximum, many of the guys tugged off their shirts and threw them on the grass. Since they weren't doing any tackling yet, Finstock didn't reprimand them. All but Stiles, afterall, he couldn't.  
  
Instead, Stiles fanned himself with his damp shirt, hoping to get air ciruclating past his skin. He took a swig from his water bottle and caught Greenberg giving him an odd look, so, naturally, Stiles gave him one right back. That got Greenberg to look a little bashful and head back to the field right before Finstock yelled at him, "Greenberg! Get your ass back on the field! Suicides go!"  
  
They continued being put through Finstock Hell and when four o'clock came around, everyone, omitting the three werewolves, fell to the ground in exhaustion. Finstock took that opportunity to compare the two groups.  
  
"Maybe if you jack wagons practiced as hard as these guys," he thumped Issac on the back, "you would still be standing, and hey! You'd be first line! Except Danny, Danny is the best goalie we've ever had and is already first line."  
  
There was a collective grumble from the boys on the ground and many middle fingers held up in the werewolves' directions. Eventually though, they all pulled themselves to a movable postion and manuevered their way to their bags.  
  
"Locker rooms are open for any of you that want them," Finstock informed them, "Same time tomorrow, be here," turning to Scott, "on time!" and he headed to the school locker room.  
  
A few of the guys immediately went to their cars, but others, like Scot and Stiles, trudged up to the school. It was only when they were in the locker room did Stiles realize his problem. How was he going to shower without showing his skin? Greenberg then showed up next to him and awkardly got his attention.  
  
"Hey, Stiles, do you want to shower?"  
  
Stiles looked at him, creeped out. Sure, Greenberg was good looking, but he was also kind of creepy, not Matt creepy, just awkward creepy.  
  
"Not with me! I just thought that you would want to shower in privacy, you know?"  
  
Stiles squinted, suspicious.  
  
"There's a couple single showers in the old locker room. They still work, and it's still kept clean, just, nobody uses it." He huffed, embarrassed, "I just. . ."  
  
Snapping, Stiles got his attention, and he motioned for Greenberg to lead the way. There was, in fact, single showers in the old locker room, which was really clean, and Stiles smiled at him, thankful. He dumped his stuff on a bench and grabbed a towel, his change of clothes, and his body wash.  
  
"Stiles?" Greenberg asked, watching him, "Are you alright? Really alright?"  
  
Why would Greenberg, of all people, ask him that? They weren't good friends, they hardly spoke to each other, and the only connections they had were lacrosse and getting harassed by Finstock. Naturally, Stiles lied and smiled affimatively at Greenberg. He then went to a shower, hung his clothes on a hook, then his towel, closed the curtain, stripped and washed the sweat and grime from his body.  
  
It didin't take him long to wash and he was finished quickly, giving his injuries a quick once over before he was toweling off.  
  
"Stiles?" Scott  yelled through the room.  
  
Greenberg answered for him, "He's in here!"  
  
"What's he doing in here?"  
  
"Showering."  
  
Stiles could practically hear the eye roll from Scott, "I know that, but why here?"  
  
"Privacy?"  
  
"Privacy?" Scott sighed, "Whatever."  
  
Stiles pulled on his clothes quickly and pulled the curtain back. Scott was fresh and ready to go and Greenberg looked pained to be caught in an odd situation. Stiles packed away his things and gestured for Scott to lead the way. On the way past Greenberg, he gave him a 'thank-you' squeeze on the shoulder.  
  
"Greenberg is kind of weird." Scott said as they headed to Stiles Jeep. Stiles didn't deny it, but he also didn't say that he was grateful Greenberg offered to show him that, even if it was sketchy. "You wanna go for pizza? Or tacos? Or burgers? Anything really, I'm just hungry!"  
  
Stiles smiled and headed to the mall, figuring they would decide when they got there. When he pulled into the parking lot, they grabbed their wallets, phones, and keys. While Stiles was reaching into the depths of his bag for his phone, he felt a crinkle of paper and pulled it out.  
  
It was from Greenberg, he could tell by the handwriting at the top. It said, "Chris Argent told me to give this to you." On the back, there was an elegant scrawl that said, "I can start you tomorrow morning around eight. Contact me for your confirmation." There was a number written next to it and Stiles quickly fished out his phone and added it into his contacts.  
  
"You coming?" Scott said over the hood of the Jeep.  
  
Stiles shot out a thumbs up and put his wallet and keys in his pockets. As they walked inside, Stiles texted Mr. Argent, "Got your message, I'll be there."  
  
A few minutes later, he replied, "I'll see you then."  
  
"Do I need to bring anything?" There was a longer delay as he waited for the reply and Scott decided he wanted Mexican food and they stood in line at some obscure Mexican joint. Stiles was pointing to the things he wanted, for Scott to order for him, when his phone went off again.  
  
"Running shoes and comfortable clothes."  
  
"Will do. Thank you." Stiles pocketed the phone and Scott ordered their food. They ate in the food court, watching people pass and Scott talked about how he was working more at the clinic, how he was doing some independent studying on various subjects, including werewolves, and how he was trying to get better at controlling himself on his own.  
  
Stiles nodded in the appropriate times, offered the right advice, and tried to be as supportive as possible. He was genuinely proud of his best friend for getting his shit together after the spring.  
  
It was around ten when Stiles dropped Scott off at home and drove himself to his own house. He was beat and immediately got ready for bed, making sure to drink the calamus stuff. He nearly missed the bed when he fell into it and was asleep within minutes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Does Greenberg really exist? I mean, we've seen the posts on tumblr about Greenberg being a girl, but Finstock refers to Greenberg as a guy. JEFF DAVIS! I REQUEST THAT THIS GETS CLEARED UP!
> 
> Also, not a lot of differentiation between Give Me A Reason and Not Broken Just Bent for this chapter, but the changes are a-coming!


	7. Sweet Nothing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Derek can't draw trees.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song is Sweet Nothing by Calvin Harris feat. Florence Welch.
> 
> I have such a crush on Florence Welch. DAT HUR!

It was one of those dreams where he was running, running without moving very fast. He tried to get away from the omegas, but he couldn't get his limbs to cooperate. Quickly, they caught up to him and started to rip his clothes off, claws carving into his skin. Stiles could hear his heart hammering in his chest in the dream and he opened his mouth to scream, but nothing came out. Instead, he tried to pull away, frantically, and he was suddenly being shaken awake.  
  
"Stiles! Jesus Christ!" Derek watched him open his eyes, chest heaving visibly in the lamplight Derek turned on, "You were dreaming, you're fine." His hands held on to Stiles' biceps, putting him into a half-reclined position.  
  
Stiles choked down the terror in his throat and launched himself at Derek's chest. Derek stiffened, not used to the teenager showing him affections or gratitude. He really didn't know what to do. Stiles' hands were clutching at the back of his t-shirt and his head was resting on his collarbone. The teen's breathing was frantic and his heartbeat was still at dangerous heights.  
  
Swallowing, Derek's hands tentatively encircled Stiles' back and softly rubbed small circles on his spine. He did that until Stiles pulled back and smiled awkardly at him. Subtley scenting the air, Derek smelt the panic subside and be replaced with the warm smell of comfort.  
  
That was a first. Stiles, up until a few moments ago, had never smelt like comfort around Derek. Annoyed? Yes. Pissed? Definitely. Worried? Plenty. But never comfort. It was. . . nice. Derek almost verbally complained when Stiles got up from his bed and away from Derek. He had restraint, really.  
  
Stiles got up to get the whiteboard and marker and returned to his bed, sitting cross-legged with his back against his headboard. "Sorry," was the first thing Stiles wrote, embarassed.  
  
"For?" Derek asked, watching the pink spread across his cheeks.  
  
"Leaping into your arms like that? Touching you?"  
  
Derek raised an eyebrow, "You don't like to touch me?" Ooh, that sounded dirty, and Stiles knew it.  
  
Stiles' mouth hung slightly open, flush spreading a little further. He tried to write something on the board but kept erasing it every time because he couldn't find anything to say to that. Eventually, he settled on, "I don't know how to react to that."  
  
Smirking, Derek took the board from Stiles' hands, along with the marker and drew on it while he talked, "Does this have to do with the reason you smell like pain?" Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Stiles reluctantly nod. "You still won't tell me?" Stiles shook his head, "Alright, you won't tell me now, but will you tell me one day?" Stiles was still, considering it and he eventually shook his head affirmatively.  
  
Derek nodded, satisfied with the answer and continued drawing on the board. Soon enough, Stiles shuffled over to him and put his chin on Derek's shoulder, looking over it. He watched for a little bit, hands steadying himself on Derek's shoulders. He thought about how good it felt to have him pressed against him like that and how nicely he seemed to fit there,  and then he snorted.  
  
"What?" Derek said indignantly.  
  
Stiles stole the marker back and wrote, "What the hell is that?"  
  
Derek frowned, "It's a tree."  
  
"It looks like a squid!" Stiles wrote frantically around the drawing, connecting his thoughts with arrows, "This is the head," indicating the trunk, "because it's all round, and these 'branches' are the tentacles! Look!" he pointed out, "This is the mantle, the eyes, and this little thing right here is the beak!" Stiles turned to smile at Derek when he finished reading and realized that he was only a mere inch or two from him.  
  
Derek watched Stiles nervously lick his lips, "It's a tree." Derek said softly, licking his own lips and watching Stiles track the movement intently.  
  
They pair of them stayed like that for a minute until Stiles bashfully pulled away and settled his head on his pillow again. He fidgeted with the hem of his t-shirt, glancing up at Derek every few seconds before jumping around the room.  
  
The werewolf expected to smell arousal coming from Stiles, but that wasn't the case. He smelt like comfort still, and a little panic. In fact, he didn't smell like a teenage boy that jacked off at all. Uncomfortably, Derek asked, "Have you masturbated since you got back?"  
  
Stiles head jerked up, shocked at the abruptness of the question, and yet. . . Truthfully, Stiles hadn't. Every morning he would wake up with morning wood, as was the male commonality, and he would ignore it. No matter how painful or how much he wanted to touch it; he wouldn't. It felt wrong and dirty to him. Which, in fact, sucked because he really liked to beat off at least once every day.  
  
Stiles shook his head, ashamed.  
  
Derek connected the pieces in his mind and realized that was also part of the reason that Stiles didn't smell right. He didn't smell like cum or arousal. He also figured that it had to do with Stiles' secret.  
  
"Go to sleep, Stiles." And he got up to leave, but Stiles held onto his arm and tried to convery a message to him. After a few moments, Derek understood, "You want me to stay?"  
  
Stiles nodded and scooched over for Derek's body to lie next to his on the bed. He also picked up the board and said, "Just in case I have another bad dream."  
  
Derek contemplated it. He didn't want to send Stiles the wrong message about him being interested in Stiles, but . . . Derek was interested in Stiles. He was smart, clever, loyal, and protective, not to mention that he smelt like Sunday mornings when his family was still alive: Pancakes, waffles, and French toast, because they could never decide on just one, strawberry syrup and mounds of bacon. Also, Stiles was very handsome, especially since his he started to grow his hair out, but he was also only seventeen.  
  
Whatever, Derek decided. He was just going to make sure Stiles didn't panic in his sleep, nothing else. It wasn't like they were really, really sleeping together.  
  
Toeing off his shoes, Derek turned the lamp off and crawled next to Stiles, laying very board-like next to the teenager. When Stiles was sure Derek was settled in his bed, his eyes dropped closed and he was soon asleep. The alpha watched him quickly drop into REM sleep, faster than normal for a human, and turn onto his side, away from Derek.  
  
Derek thought he could catch a few z's himself closed his eyes and was asleep moments later.  
  
  
Stiles' eyes opened a few minutes before his alarm was supposed to tell him to get up and he just about had a heart attack when he felt someone's body pressed firmly against his. His heart beat shot up for a moment before he heard a snuffling behind his neck and realized that it was Derek.  
  
Derek Hale. Was in his bed. Derek fucking Hale fell asleep in his bed. Shit. Very subtley, Stiles tried to wiggle out of Derek's arm, but it only encircled his waist tighter and pressed him more against the werewolf who was still alseep. Unsure of what to do, Stiles lay there, engulfed in Derek's larger body, and waited for his alarm to wake them up.  
  
While he waited the short minutes, he felt almost serene with the heat behind him, and then Derek's hand lazily dragged under Stiles t-shirt and settled over his abodomen. Code motherfucking red! Just as Stiles was about to shoot out of his bed in a panic at the sudden intimate touch, his phone screamed at him to wake up.  
  
Instantly, Derek recoiled his arms and nearly rolled off the bed as Stiles reached out and shut his phone up. Without looking back, he quickly went to the bathroom for his morning things and to tell himself to calm the fuck down. Derek was asleep and there was no way that he would ever purposely do something like that to Stiles. He breathed a few times and then went out to see Derek still trying to blink sleep from his eyes.  
  
Stiles gave a tentative wave, which Derek looked at very confused-like. He then pulled some workout clothes from his drawers and his running shoes from his closet and retreated back intothe bathroom to give Derek some time to wake up more, and because he didn't want to reveal his scars until he was ready to do so.  
  
Making sure that everything was all in place, Stiles went back to his room and Derek had finally extracted himself from Stiles' bed and looked. . . absolutely adorable. He had mused, bed hair, sheet wrinkles on his cheek, and his face was still relaxed to the point of him looking a few years younger. Stiles bit the inside of his cheek to suppress a smile, but Derek must have seen it and he scowled, "Why are you up so goddamn early? It's the summer."  
  
Stiles rolled his eyes and wrote on the whiteboard, "I've got to go see a man about a monkey."  
  
"Meaning?"  
  
"I've got shit to do today; hence, I got up early. You can go back to sleep when I leave. My dad is leaving around the same time I will and you can stay and leave if you need to." As soon as Derek was done reading that, he erased it and continued, "Unless your abandoned places have a luxurious mattress with memory foam that none of us are aware of. . ."  
  
Derek bitchfaced, apparently insulting his hideouts were a no-no. While Derek held his bitchface, Stiles shuffled around his room and gathered his phone and his keys and pocketed them, "I have a place to stay," the alpha gritted out, seemingly strained by the effort to say so.  
  
Stiles abruptly turned around and raised an eyebrow, mouth hanging open.  
  
"It's a loft."  
  
A loft? That sounded very prestigious, and kind of unsuited for Derek. He imagined it had very few pieces of furniture, interior decortating didn't seem like his thing, and in very neutral colors. The place was probably really cool looking, exposed brick, large space, staircase to the actual loft part, all that jazz. Damn, Derek, no matter how begrudgingly Stiles admitted it, had so much cool shit: the Camaro, werewolf powers, awesome leather jackets, and now a fucking loft. Jesus.  
  
"Or you could go there." Stiles wrote, a small smile on his face.  
  
They stood there awkardly for a bit, as close to the morning after as Stiles was ever going to get for a while, before Stiles gestured to the door. Derek nodded and moved to the window. Just before Derek and Stiles parted ways, Stiles gave Derek a little wave good-bye. The last thing Stiles saw before he closed the door behind him was Derek looking dumbstruck at the little gesture.  
  
Stiles chuckled to himself as he bounded down the stairs and found his dad at the table, coffee and paper in hand. "Stiles? What are you doing up so early?"  
  
The teenager typed up, "I'm going for a workout," gesturing to his attire.  
  
His father raised an eyebrow, disbelieving, "A workout, huh? Alright then, just don't hurt yourself on any weight machines."  
  
He patted his father's shoulder and grabbed some energy bars. He then turned and headed out to his Jeep, giving his father his best 'stay safe' look.  When he pulled up to the Argent household, his heart was pounding a little harder than usual, kind of terrified, but he swallowed it down and walked up to the door.  
  
"Right on time, Stiles." Mr. Argent greeted him and ushered him inside, "Thank you for doing as I asked," they moved farther into the house and out into the backyard, "and I thought we would start with the basics."  
  
Nodding, Stiles followed and stayed when Chris held up a hand for him to.  
  
"If you have anything in your pockets, please remove them and we'll warm up, alright?" Stiles did so and they started with some plyometrics across a small part of the lawn. To his not-really suprise, Chris Argent kept up with him while he called out what to do. After, they stretched, and Stiles found that he was much more flexible than the Argent. Then, they really got into it.  
  
Chris Argent had him hold up his forearms and brace himself in a half lunge, while he used a soft noodle to hit him. Once Stiles got down the pattern of the hits, he was allowed to move with them, still keeping his stance. He was able to duck down and avoid all the noodle hits by the end of five minutes.  
  
"Good, good," Chris Argent said,  "Now we go for the mobility, same thing but try to anticipate the hits without holding up your arms."  
  
Stiles did so and he found that his awkward lank, that usually hindered him, was used to his advantage because he was able to jerk in just the right way for him to avoid being hit. And then Chris Argent dropped the noodle and used a wooden rod. Stiles was a little terrified of getting more bruises, but he found that when he concentrated enough he didn't have to worry. He could easily dodge them all.  
  
Chris gave a satisfied smile, "You have great potential, you know that?" Stiles looked embarassed and munched on an energy bar as they rested. "Next, I'll show you how to go on offense."  
  
After a few more minutes of rest, Stiles was instructed to hold his arms close to his sides and punch from his waist, then by turning his torso with him, then by bringing his fists under and up in front of him. Once the hunter was satisfied with his reptitions, they started on legs. The teenager kicked front bottom up, around his body using his hips, and by various form of throwing one leg over the other mid-air. Each movement was corrected by Chris until he deemed it worthy of completion, and Stiles could feel his muscles screaming in protest, yet he was absolutely okay with that.  
  
"Now, I'll be on defense while you're on offense, and you try to land a few hits on me. Sound good?"  
  
Stiles nodded and made his moves. A left hook to the oblique that was swatted away. An uppercut to the jaw that he caught and pushed away. A roundhouse kick to ribs that was grabbed and then he was pushed down on the grass.  
  
Groaning, Stiles got up and tried again. A jab to the stomach that was avoided and a front kick to the hip that knocked himself off balance. Frustratingly, he slapped the ground.  
  
"Come on, Stiles! I know you can do better than that. Focus!"  
  
Stiles got up and breathed for a moment, trying to find that something that got him through the last night. He could feel the omegas around him, touching him, and rage welled up inside him, but instead of letting the emotion overtake him, he honed it until it was the one thing he could focus on to get him through.  
  
The teenager tried again. He did a quick succession of jabs to Chris Argent's stomach, one or two landing as the hunter backed up. He used his foreword momentum to sweep his leg under the hunter's feet, something he had seen multiple times in video games, and he was shocked to see the hunter go down. But he quickly sprung up on his feet and Stiles gave a roundhouse kick to his ribs, and Chris caught it again. Instead of letting the older man throw him down, Stiles used the grip on his leg to swing himself up and kick Chris Argent squarely in the head.  
  
Immediately, the man let go of his leg and stumbled down into the grass. Stiles instantly crouched beside him, worried that he gave him a concussion or something, but he was laughing. "That's what I'm talking about!"  
  
Stiles slumped in relief, and gave his own breathy, no-voice laugh.  
  
Chris Argent slapped him on the back, "You've got serious hunter potential, kid. I've haven't seen someone take so quickly to fighting since my sister did." He didn't even falter, he didn't even stutter at the mention of Kate.  
  
The teenager didn't know what to say at that, so instead he nodded at him, embarassed a little at the praise. Stiles then found his phone and typed, "So, Greenberg?'  
  
Chris let out a laugh, "Yeah. I realized that I couldn't exactly ask Allison for your number, we got rid of all of Allison's phone tracking information after. . ." he trailed off, leaving the 'my wife died' in the air, "anyway, and I saw Greenberg at the grocery store an hour before your guys' practice."  
  
"Did you threaten him to get him to give me the message?" Stiles typed out.  
  
"Oh, ha ha." he joked, "No, I didn't. He was already terrified when I saw him. I just had to nudge him in the right direction. . . and then pay him five bucks."  
  
"That's Greenberg."  
  
They sat in silence for a bit before Chris offered Stiles a drink and they went inside. Stiles still had another hour and a half to wait before practice and he didn't really want to face Derek, if he was still there. While they sat at the counter and Chris told him about little things he should watch for in a fight, Allison came down, blearily blinking sleep from her eyes.  
  
"Stiles?" Allison asked, yawning, "What are you doing over here?"  
  
"Good morning Allison," her father greeted. Stiles gave a wave and gestured for her to sit next to him.  
  
She sat down and her dad set an English muffin with jam in front of her. Allison dutifully spread the jam on and ate in silence until it was all down, waking herself up. "I hate that English assignment we have."  
  
Stiles smiled and typed out, "So, you got to that part, did you?"  
  
Allison nodded grimly, "Why do they pick the most bizarre books for us to read?" She watched Stiles shrug and she turned to her dad, "So, why were you two chatting it up a little bit ago?"  
  
Chris and Stiles exchanged wary looks and Stiles gave a shake of his head, "Some things happened that we're trying to sort out, and you said that you don't want to be invovled in the family business so I don't think I should tell you."  
  
"Werewolf family business?"  
  
They nodded and Allison sighed, "Fine." she was silent for a moment then asked, "Would you be willing to go to the mall with me tomorrow?"  
  
Taken aback for a moment, Stiles stared dumbly at her, then he nodded.  
  
"Good, what time can you go?"  
  
Stiles held up a hand with all his fingers splayed.  
  
Allison wrinkled her nose, "Why so late?"  
  
"Lacrosse practice." Chris cut in, "I saw Greenberg dressed up in his gear at the store yesterday, remember?"  
  
"Oh yeah," Allison recalled, "Weird kid, Greenberg."  
  
They all nodded and Stiles got up to leave. He non-vocally expressed his gratitude and shook Chris Argent's hand as they moved to the door. On his way past Allison, he gave her a wave and a smile.  
  
"Same time tomorrow?" Chris inquired silently, opening the door.  
  
Stiles nodded and smiled. He then stepped out the door and hopped into his Jeep back toward home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this while waiting for my little sister to get out of back surgery. While all the parents were surrounded by child-friendly things, I was counting down the chapters until the sexy times happen. I regret nothing.


	8. Don't Say A Word

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The dominoes start to fall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't Say A Word by Ellie Goudling.
> 
> In order to make up for my terrible blunder of not posting a chapter last week, I'm going to try and put one up around Thursday!

The next day and a half were a lot of the same. Stiles woke up early, headed to the Argent's for "fight club," went home for lunch, then to practice, and headed home, barely getting himself on the bed at night. Somewhere around midnight, Derek wandered in, stopped the nightmares, tried to leave, and then ended up curling around Stiles to sleep.  
  
It wasn't bad, per se, to have Derek touch him, but it took him a bit each to ease himself back to sleep. In the morning, Derek would be flush against him. The first morning, Derek was spooning him, and the next morning, Derek had his legs tangled in Stiles' with his lips pressing into Stiles' collarbone. The teenager, of course, woke up before his alarm, cursing his biological clock to high heaven, and then Derek snuffled at his collarbone and he almost jolted backward.  
  
Derek's arms were wrapped around Stiles' waist, his hands bunching up the fabric of his nightshirt, and his lips pressing wetly to Stiles' skin. Stiles hands, on the other hand, were curled into his own chest, afraid to touch, and his body had unconsciously decided that it wanted to move away from Derek, but couldn't quite manage that. Therefore, his ass was pushed out while his torso was trapped by Derek and his legs were trapped between Derek's.  
  
Same as the day before, Stiles' alarm shocked Derek out of dreamland and he instantly recoiled with a frown. He yanked Stiles' pillow from his side of the bed and threw it over his head while Stiles got up to start his day. Derek grumbled into his pillow sandwich, "How the fuck can a teenager get up early of his own fucking will?"  
  
Derek was not a morning person, clearly, and it made Stiles want to laugh at him.  
  
Stiles got ready for the day, Derek woke himself up, they parted, and Stiles went to the Argent's. There, he learned to how to properly weild weapons of various lengths, including a daggar, a knife, a medium branch, a sword, a long branch, and a baseball bat. Chris Argent helped him not hurt himself and they made it through without Stiles having more than a three inch cut on his forearm from the knife.  
  
After some talking, Allison came down, ate, then confirm that they were going shopping later. Stiles nodded and had to head of to practice, otherwise he would be late. He said his good-byes, promising Chris to be back the next morning.  
  
Practice sucked, as usual. Greenberg called Finstock 'Cupcake' and they had to run suicides for a really long time. Needless to say, Greenberg was ostracized the rest of practice, and tripped, elbowed, and glared at.  
  
During a four-way passing drill, Lydia was suddenly standing next to Stiles. Of course, Issac, Jackson, and Scott already knew she was there, but hadn't felt the need to tell the human in their group. Stiles, therefore, didn't catch the ball and it skimmed over a bite on his side, he choked a little and turned to her, an eyebrow raised.  
  
"He lost his voice, Lydia." Scott told her and tried to hide a smile at Stiles being hit with a ball.  
  
"Did he?" Lydia narrowed her eyes, not even glancing at Scott.  
  
"Miss Martin," Finstock's voice boomed out, souding pleasantly pissed off, "what are you doing on my field with your high heels?"  
  
Spinning, Lydia gave her best sass-face, "They are Jimmy Choos, Mr. Finstock, and I need to talk to Stiles for a few minutes."  
  
"Stiles?" He parroted, "Stilinski, you mean?"  
  
She rolled her eyes, "Yes, Stilinski." Jackson tittered behind them.  
  
"Well, you're just going to have to wait until practice is over, sweetie, because Stiles is a bit busy right now, Miss Martin."  
  
"Oh, but, Mr. Finstock, these practices are not mandatory; therefore, Stiles can be pulled off the field to discuss things with me if I damn well please." She gave her best sweet smile, accompied with her best 'I will rip your balls off' voice, "Now, excuse us." She grasped Stiles' elbow and pulled him along to the edge of the field.  
  
Stiles could hear Finstock trying to protest. Turning, he saw Jackson put a hand on his shoulder and heard him say, "Just let it go, Coach. You won't win."  
  
He had the satisfaction of seeing Finstock look dejected for a moment before he swatted Jackson away, "Twenty laps around the field, let's go!"  
  
The red head pulled him into the parking lot and spun around to face him, "Erica told me that something happened to you a few days ago and you won't tell anyone. I asked." Stiles stared at her, unsure of what to do, "Jackson said that you now shower in the old locker room because, and I quote, 'Stilinski's too much of a pansy to show his face next to all my werewolf glory,' and I would believe it, if Erica and Derek had both said that you smelt terrified, angry, sad, in pain, and a myriad of other things that aren't good. I've come to a conclusion that I need you to varify."  
  
She was smart, he of all people knew that. Regardless of how smart she was, there was no way that she would be able to figure out what happened to him, right?  
  
"Who touched you, Stiles?"  
  
How the fuck did she do that?  
  
Sweat started to form on his brow that wasn't related to practice and his breathing increased. Images of blood, faces, bodies, werewolf eyes, claws, Gerard, all flashed through his mind and he started to back away from her in stumbling steps.  
  
"Stiles!" Lydia gently caught his wrist in her hand and held him steady, "I was just guessing! I didn't actually think that someone had. . ." she swallowed, her bitch-facade dropping into the ones he saw in her car and his room all those months ago. "What did they do to you?"  
  
His breath left him in a huff and he brought her hand up to his throat and rested it their until she understood. Her eyes lit up, darkened, and narrowed, "Give me a name and I will personally tear them a new one."  
  
If he was being honest about what happened to his throat, he might as well be honest about how many there were. The brunette shook his head and he held up his hand, fingers spread, twice and then two fingers.  
  
"Twelve." She dead panned. "There were fucking twelve of them?" Her voice as approaching dangerous heights and he tried to silence her with a finger to his own lips. "I'm sorry, but twelve? You just give me their descriptions and I will take care of it, vengefully."  
  
He stepped away from her, looking away from her for a moment. Miming for a pen and paper, she produced them from her purse and he wrote, "You don't have to."  
  
"You already did? Good. I'll have Jackson haul out the bodies with Derek."  
  
"No!" He rasped, terrified of the thought of Derek knowing anything. Scribbling, he produced an explanation, "Don't tell them! Not anyone! I don't want anyone to know!"  
  
"Why not?"  
  
"I know I'm just a human and I really don't have any special skills other than copious amounts of sarcasm, but I don't want anyone to look at me differently."  
  
"Stiles. None. Of us hold you being a human against you! Not Derek, not me, not Scott, not even Jackson! You have been more helpful than you can imagine, sarcasm included, and I will not tolerate you saying differently."  
  
He swallowed around a growing lump in his throat, "Just, promise you won't tell anyone?"  
  
She looked like she wanted to argue, but he gave her a pleading, kicked puppy look and she caved, "Fine. I don't know anything."  
  
He threw his arms around her in a quick hug, then realized what he was doing and quickly retracted himself. Stiles flailed around, trying to give apologizing gestures. She cocked her head. Raising an eyebrow, she stated, "You have to get back before Finstock comes and finds us."  
  
They stepped in line with each other and walked back to the field where the boys were finishing their twenty laps. The guys shot him various glares, but the werewolves just slightly cocked their heads at him, confused looking.  
  
Everything was relatively normal afther that, up until Stiles was heading to his Jeep after practice, fully washed and dried. Someone, Jackson most likely, had rammed really hard into Stiles. It not only knocked him to the ground, the brunt of the push had landed on the middle of Stiles' stomach where there were many bruises still healing.  
  
The teenager had put his bag in the passenger seat of his Jeep and then pulled his t-shirt up enough to inspect his stomach. They didn't look any worse than they had in the morning, but they hurt like hell. Stiles sighed, dropped his shirt and looked up straight into Issac's eyes.  
  
Issac stared open-mouthed at Stiles through the passenger side window at Stiles. His eyes were golden and Stiles felt his heart rate spike. Instantly, Issac was in behind him. The werewolf turned him around, pushed him against the side of the Jeep and yanked his shirt up. All Stiles could do was take it, convinced that he was going to get attacked again, and he closed his eyes, waiting for Issac to hurt him, his mind going blank of all the moves he learned in the past two days.  
  
After a minute of his heart going wild, Stiles opened his eyes to see Issac's jaw clenching and unclenching methodically. Tentatively, Issac's fingers ghosted over the injuries and he whined low in his throat.  
  
It was completely understandable. Mr. Lahey had beat him countless times after his older brother died and before he himself died, so seeing an aquaitance with bruises, like the ones he nursed for years, probably sent him back to the days where he was helpless.  
  
"Where did you get these?" Issac's voice was strained, angry. His hand curled into a fist and rested lightly on his stomach.  
  
Stiles still couldn't speak more than a few words without his throat screaming at him, and he didn't want to tell the truth, so he typed out, "Some douchebags didn't think I was funny during my vacation." Which was kind of true, the omegas were douchebags, but Stiles wasn't trying to be funny with them.  
  
Issac growled, "Who?"  
  
"The twelve dancing princesses."  
  
"Stiles! I'm serious." Issac barked, hands pressing into Stiles' skin lightly, "Who were they?"  
  
"No clue."  
  
Issac growled, frustrated, then pressed more firmly against Stiles' stomach and his veins started to turn black. Stiles instantly swatted his hand away and fixed him with a glare. "What the fuck was that for?"  
  
"It's not your pain to take." He rasped out.  
  
"What?" Issac stood there, disbelieving, as Stiles yanked down his shirt, "You're human! There's no way you can-"  
  
Stiles had Issac against the side of his Jeep in a blink, "It. Is not. Your pain. To fucking take. Got it?" he tried to make his voice as forecful as possible whilst pushing a werewolf into the metal of his car.  
  
"You can do better than Stilinski, Lahey!" Jackson shouted over to them, smirking at them as Danny tried to get him to shut and get in his porche. Lydia slapped Jackson from inside the car, angrily.  
  
Stiles turned and put all his hate and anger into his stare and took a step foreword. Jackson's eyes widened a little before his eyes flashed blue, sensing a challenge. Issac put a hand on Stiles' shoulder and Danny did the same to Jackson. Danny ushered Jackson into his porche, breaking the eye contact, and sent a confused and apologizing look to the other teenagers.  
  
The human turned around and faced the werewolf, face still set in anger. Issac searched his face and sighed, "Alright, no werewolf ju-ju. Just. . . would you at least tell me if they do it again?"  
  
Stiles cocked his head, asking a silent 'why'?  
  
"I don't like people I find useful to be in pain."  
  
Stiles dramatically clutched his chest and typed out, "You find me useful? Oh sweet lawd, what will the girls at the salon say about this?"  
  
The werewolf rolled his eyes, a little peeved, "Whatever, just don't complain when Jackson barrels you over again and you start crying."  
  
"You got it, sweet cheeks." He winked and hopped in his Jeep. He gave Issac a quick wave as he peeled out of the parking lot to Allison's house. He didn't even think to remember to tell Issac to refrain from telling Derek about what he saw.  
  
Almost in a panic by the time he reached Allison's house, he saw that Issac had texted him already, "Don't worry, my lips are sealed." His heart came to a steady, even pace because Issac understood. He knew the shame of wearing bruises that he didn't want, and Stiles was grateful for that.  
  
Jogging to the front door, a large, hulking, male, hunter exited the house as soon as Stiles bounded up the stairs. Chris Argent just caught sight of him before he closed the door on the hunter. As Stiles passed him, the hunter gave Stiles a calculating once-over, then nodded politely.  
  
"Stiles," Chris greeted, "long time no see." He joked and let Stiles into the house, "Go ahead and get Allison, I have something I want to give you when you get back down."  
  
Curiousity spiked, Stiles ascended the stairs by two and knocked on Allison's door. She answered, looking like a super model, as always, and she smiled, "Hi Stiles! Ready to go?" She pulled a purse from the hooks by her door and moved into the hallway with him.  
  
He nodded vigorously and they headed back downstairs where Mr. Argent was waiting for them, empty-handed. Smiling he reminded them, "Drive carefully, don't over spend, and don't buy anything out of season."  
  
That was not what Stiles expected to hear from badass, werewolf hunter Chris Argent, but then he remembered that Allison's mom had been a buyer for H&M a few years ago, so she must have instilled various fashion laws in her family before she passed.  
  
"Of course, Dad," Allison smiled, "We shouldn't be too long, so I'll see you when I get back." They moved to the door and Allison quickly swung it open, "I love you."  
  
"I love you, too," Chris said and the moment she turned to walk down the steps, he handed Stiles a cloth wrapped bag of something rigid, "As a starter." He smiled and Stiles shoved it in his jeans pocket, liking how deep the pockets were so he could fit it.  
  
At the mall, the pair of them wandered around to Macy's where they found the ugliest things they could and took turns trying them on and showing them to each other. Some of the things they found was a hawaiian shirt in orange, purple suspenders, bright red jeans, and a paisley bowtie for Stiles, and a tutu-like, lemon yellow skirt, black and red stripped tights, and a misprinted graphic t-shirt for Allison.  
  
They laughed at themselves, took pictures and found their way to the food court. They ordered ice cream and fries and sat down with them. Stiles found that if he could whisper without making his throat vibrate, which is actually what a whisper is, they could actually talk.  
  
"What do gay guys get at the bar?" Stiles asked, an eyebrow raised, smirking, "Penis coladas." He then smiled wide, pleased with himself.  
  
Allison then leaned in, looking him dead in the eye, she responded to the question, "Cocktails."  
  
Stiles made the mistake of putting food in his mouth while she answered and ended up spitting it back out in surprise. His smile was wide as he used all their napkins to clean up the mess he made. When he sat back down from retrieving more napkins, Allison had a sad, contemplative look on her face.  
  
"I miss Scott."  
  
"He misses you."  
  
"Does he really? He sure doesn't seem like it."  
  
"He just knows that you need your space right now and he'll be waiting when you want to see him again."  
  
"Did he tell you that?"  
  
"Didn't have to." Stiles ate some ice cream, "He's crazy about you and the whole world knows it."  
  
She smiled, "What about you? Still head over heels for Lydia?"  
  
Sputtering around ice cream, Stiles tried to remain calm, "I have never been head over heels with. . ."  
  
Allison fixed him with a look, not buying anything he was trying to sell.  
  
"It's complicated now."  
  
"How so?"  
  
"Ahm, remember when your dad told you that something happened with me and it involved werewolves?"  
  
"Yes. . ."  
  
"It has something to do with that, and when Jackson turned into an actual werewolf instead of serial killing lizard."  
  
"So, Lydia's out. Who's in?"  
  
"I can't tell you."  
  
"Why not?" She feigned indignance.  
  
"Because you won't approve and you'll try to convince me to get away as far as I could."  
  
"I wouldn't do that," she waved her hand dismissively, "unless it was Derek. Oh shit," she realized, "it is Derek, isn't it?"  
  
His silence was his answer.  
  
"Stiles! He's dangerous and you know it!"  
  
"I know, I just. . . I guess I have a thing for people that are out of my league, you know?"  
  
She clenched her hand, and resigned, "Yeah, I do."  
  
They finished their fast food in silence when Stiles said, "Come on, I actually have to buy something."  
  
"Like what?" Allison caught up to him.  
  
The cashier rang up the total and said, "Five, thirty-six, please."  
  
"Bells? You need to buy bells?" Allison asked, incredulous.  
  
Stiles handed over the money, "Have you ever had every fucking werewolf in the town sneak up on you in your own room via the window without being invited?" Luckily, Stiles had spoken so low that the cashier hadn't heard him and handed over his change, "No, you haven't, and let me tell you something. It sucks."  
  
They began walking out of the store and back into the main mall area to head to the Jeep, "Are you going to hang them on your window then?"  
  
"And possibly their necks."  
  
Allison giggled, "That's a good idea."  
  
They both giggled a little. Stiles safely dropped her off at her front door, Chris Argent giving him a slight nod, and he was in his driveway when Lydia texted him.  
  
"Road trip tomorrow. You, me, and Erica. We leave at nine, pack your wallet, sunglasses, water, and snacks."  
  
"Do I not get a say in this?"  
  
"No."  
  
"Does Erica agree to this?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"How do you do that?"  
  
"Magic, Stiles, magic."  
  
At that point, Stiles would have believed that Lydia was a witch, not just a mean girl, but a real witch. Spells and all.  
  
Inside his house, Stiles' dad was pulling on his jacket when he walked into the living room, "Hey Stiles, the station called and I have to go in for a bit. I should be back before midnight, don't stay up." He paused, "Well, I guess you could, since you don't have school, but don't leave the house."  
  
Stiles nodded, giving a thumbs up, "Stay safe," he whispered.  
  
"You can sort of talk now! That's. . . great," he jokingly grimaced, "but don't over exert yourself. I'll see you later." He was out the door with a wave from his son.  
  
Stiles went to his bathroom and pulled out what Chris Argent gave him. He took out the rigid object and found it was a simple dagger. It just had a the hunter saying carved into the handle, "Nous chassons ceux qui nous chassent." It felt sturdy in Stiles' palm, like it made him that much more capable of handling himself. Quickly, he stowed it back into its wrappings and he put it under the sink to get it later because he heard Derek's leather jacket creak in the silence of his house.  
  
Sure enough, the alpha werewolf was standing by the window, looking around in the fading sunset. Did the guy have to look like he was CGI'd every time the light hit him. He looked like someone had mapped his body for a video game and Stiles was insanely jealous of that fact.  
  
Derek's eyes roamed over Stiles and he let out a breath, "Stiles."  
  
It didn't sound like anything but a greeting, maybe a little tired, but, all the same, Stiles knew that he was fucked because he had a massive crush on a werewolf. And all he did was say his name. Shit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WHO THE FUCK DECIDED THAT GIRL'S JEAN POCKETS NEED TO BE TWO INCHES DEEP WHEN GUYS GET A FULL HALF-FOOT?! I will find them and gut them like a fish.
> 
> I've started watching Hannibal. . . and I should really be more concerned over the fact that Hannibal's cannibal meals don't gross me out as much as they should. Also, I ship Hannibal/Will in all the dirty-bad-wrong ways.


	9. Teen Idle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Always check for a pulse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Teen Idle by Marina and the Diamonds.
> 
> I lied about that extra chapter. . . DAMN YOU FINALS!

Stiles wondered if Derek could feel it as well as Stiles could. That underlying, unresolved sexual tension they always seemed to have. Regardless if it was there or not, Stiles refused to have his body aroused at the moment because he needed to get ready for bed, even if it was only around nine o'clock.  
  
He snagged a pair of pajamas from his drawers, retreated back to the bathroom, changed, and reemerged seeing that Derek had taken off his jacket. Stiles sat down on his bed and waited for Derek to speak.  
  
Derek took his sweet time. The werewolf meandered through the room, aimlessly looking at things Stiles had, sometimes picking them up. When he circled back to where he started, he frowned, "What do you know about alpha-beta-omega dynamics?"  
  
Unwillingly, Stiles' heart rate spiked and he took a large inhalation of air; however, he wrote down, "Not much. Why?"  
  
The werewolf's brow creased, "You know that alphas are the head of the pack and betas are beneath them, and omegas are lone-wolves, essentially." Even though it wasn't needed, Stiles nodded and Derek continued, "And an alpha can become either an omega or beta, a beta can become an omega or alpha, and an omega can become an alpha or beta. A cycle."  
  
With a white knuckled grip on the white-board, Stiles asked the most obvious question, "Why tell me this?"  
  
Derek blew out a breath, frustrated, "I keep. . . smelling a wolf around town, but I can't tell what rank he is. He smells. . . different."  
  
Different as in a wolf that slaughtered their way through many other wolves to gain power for a power-hungry madman? Stiles, of course, didn't say that, but he sure thought it. Instead, he wrote, "Is it dangerous?"  
  
"Not sure yet," Derek shrugged, "but could you do some--" Derek abruptly stopped, eyes on Stiles body. His red eyes flashed and his look took on a menacing one, "Why do you smell like Argent."  
  
Stiles tried to brush it off with a side-ways grin, "Allison is still my friend, you know." Positive that that was what Derek was referring to.  
  
"Not. Her."  
  
Oh. Oh! . . . Shit. There wasn't any other way around saying that he was hanging out with Chris Argent, so he stayed silent.  
  
"Stiles." Derek glowered, teeth gritted together.  
  
A minute of silence passed. Then two, three, four, and at minute five Derek stormed toward the bathroom. Stiles could hear cabinets being ripped open, bottles being knocked over. A moment later, Derek re-emerged with the dagger in his hand. He held it up like it was a personal offense on his part.  
  
"What the fuck is this, Stiles?"  
  
Still, Stiles said nothing, eyes wide and terrified.  
  
"Becoming a hunter now, are you? Going to learn all about how to kill your classmates? Gonna learn how to kill me? Gonna learn how to kill your best friend? What would Scott say about you hiding this away from him?"  
  
Stiles hand closed into a fist on is knee, holding himself together as best he could. He would never try to get any of them killed! They weren't the problem, and Stiles thought that he had taken care of it. Evidently, he didn't. Somehow, someway, one of them must have survived. Stiles knew that he hadn't taken pulses on any of the bodies, but there had been so much blood that he didn't feel like he had to. Rookie mistake.  
  
"Were you planning to get us all together on the full moon and then have Chris Argent and his buddies burn us all to the ground?" Derek was furious, and he had every right to be. Hardly anyone actually let him in on anything for whatever reason. The amount of betrayal the guy had gone through was staggering, but some of the things that were spilling out of his mouth were uncalled for. "Would you like for me to get the invitations together now, so we're all there. Don't wanna inconvenience you or anything."  
  
It wasn't like that.  
  
"Or would your rather drug them and make it a surprise, right before you light the match?"  
  
Derek threw the dagger on the ground. Stiles jumped.  
  
And the last thing that Derek said was possibly the worst thing he had ever said to Stiles, or anyone for that matter.  
  
"Your father must be so proud."  
  
Stiles' jaw ached with how hard he had it clenched, and he was pretty sure that his palms were bleeding from the force of his nails in them. His throat felt constricted, his eyes downcast.  
  
And like the drama queen he was, Derek leaped out the window, jacket in hand.  
  
Stiles sat there, forcing himself to not cry. Men didn't cry, society said so. He breathed, forcing air in and out of his lungs. Once he felt like he had calmed down enough, he texted Scott, "Hey, could you come over?" And would you look at that? Stiles' palms were not bleeding! Hoo-rah.  
  
Scott immediately replied, "Already out the door! Be there in ten."  
  
Stiles closed his eyes, cementing the cracks together, once again. He then gathered the dagger and stowed in his chest of drawers, under the contents of one drawer Scott would never touch: the geek t-shirt drawer.  
  
Scott, like an actual human being, walked in the front door and up to Stiles' room. Stiles was sitting on his bed, elbows on knees, hands clasped, and staring at the wall. "Stiles?"  
  
The human snapped his eyes to him and covered up his sadness with a smile, "Hey, bud."  
  
Scott sat down on the bed next to Stiles, "Hey! You can sort of talk! Awesome!" there was a moment of silence, "What's up?"  
  
Stiles let out a shaky breath, hand running through his growing hair, "I'm. . . it's. . . you know I would never try to hurt your right, intentionally?"  
  
"Course not! Bros until the end."  
  
"I've been hanging out a little with Allison."  
  
Stiles braced for impact and explosion, but all he got was ,"I know."  
  
His head jerked up, "You know? How?"  
  
Scott tapped his nose.  
  
"Right. Werewolf."  
  
"I'm not mad, really I'm not," Scott blew out a breath, "I miss her, you know? And I wish we could be together without all this shit in the way, but I get it. And just because we're not together, that doesn't mean that you two can't still be friends."  
  
"Thanks, I need all the friends I can get."  
  
Scott looked insulted, "Are you insinuating that I am a horrible friend?"  
  
Stiles laughed loudly and coughed, "Never, you are the best, best buddy in the entire world! You're the Pepper to my Tony, the Robin to my Batman, the--"  
  
"I got it!" Scott laughed, "So, video games or movie?"  
  
"Video games," Stiles decided, "Jackson rammed me pretty hard today and I have a little bit of anger to mash buttons with."  
  
They played well into the night, yelling at the screen, shoving each other, and being complete trolls on Mario Kart. Stiles didn't even notice that his dad didn't come home that night until five in the morning.  
  
  
Scott woke him up at seven with a kick to his hip. They were squished in Stiles' bed together because sharing a bed stopped being weird after seventh grade and Scott was a severe bed hog.  
  
"Stop freaking out, dude." Scott mumbled into his pillow.  
  
Was he freaking out? He didn't remember any nightmares, but he also didn't recall a lot of his dreams. Anyway, Stiles rolled out of bed and did his morning things. When he got back, Scott was snoring happily, and Stiles, being the little shit he is, ruined it. He picked up the dog whistle he bought over the week of finals, because Scott hadn't been getting enough sleep and needed a way to stay awake, and blew it.  
  
Instantly, Scott flew out of bed with a screech, "Dude! What the fuck!" Stiles laughed wheezily, "Fuck you, man. Not cool." Scott groaned and flopped back on the mattress. Then, like a snake, he slithered from the bed to the floor and over to his clothes. As he was changing from his, actually his that he kept at Stiles' house, pajamas he inquired the time.  
  
"Seven oh-nine."  
  
"Shit!" Frantically, Scott pulled on the remainder of his clothes, "I have to be at the clinic by seven thirty!" He was lacing his shoes when Stiles threw an energy bar at him, "Oh dude, thanks! You're a life saver!" He then hurriedly brushed his teeth with the supplies he kept at the Stilinski household.  
  
"See you later!" Stiles said as he held the door open for Scott to leave.  
  
"Yeah, see you at practice!" Scott said, unlocking his car door.  
  
"I'm not going today!" Stiles whispered after him, knowing Scott would hear him.  
  
"What?!" Scott looked betrayed, "You're leaving me? With Finstock?"  
  
"Yeah, sorry buddy! Lydia is taking me somewhere! I'll text you later!"  
  
"Bye buddy! Love you!"  
  
"Love you too!" God, they were so much like a married couple it was sickening. Once back inside, Stiles cleaned himself up in the shower, then assessed his body. So far, the bruises were that hideous yellow color and the lacerations were healing nicely. He wasn't too worried about them. Also, the stitches looked like they would be able to come out in a few more days.  
  
Getting himself dressed, Stiles realized that he promised Mr. Argent to go over for training. He scrambled for his phone and dialed the number.  
  
He picked up on the second ring, "Stiles?"  
  
"Yes! Mr. Argent, can you hear me?"  
  
"Just barely, but go on. Is everything alright?"  
  
"Ah, yeah. I just called to tell you that I won't be there today because I've got other plans. They were really last minute last night and I totally blanked on telling you. Really sorry!"  
  
"No problem, really. Did you look at what I gave you?"  
  
"The dagger?" Of course he had, and thinking about it made him remember what happened after he looked at it, "Yeah, I did. Thank you so much. I promise not to get it too dirty and keep it really clean."  
  
"Glad you liked it. So, I'll see you tomorrow morning then?"  
  
"Yes, and, again, I'm really sorry about canceling so late."  
  
"No really, it's fine. You have fun with what you're doing today."  
  
"Thanks sir, you too."  
  
They hung up and Stiles breathed a sigh of relief. He went downstairs and sat at the table with a bowl of cereal. As his leg bounced under the table, the sheriff walked in looking worn out.  
  
"Morning Stiles," he mumbled, fumbling with the coffee maker for a moment.  
  
"Hey Dad, why are you so tired? I thought you got back at, like, midnight?"  
  
The elder Stilinski yawned, "Nope,  got back way, way early this morning. You and Scott were already asleep by then."  
  
If he was getting in late again, that only meant that something dangerous was happening again, "What's going on?"  
  
"It's nothing real-"  
  
"Dad."  
  
"There was. . . another animal attack. Whatever it was took out two campers up north of town. They were found by a hiker around eight forty-five last night, dead."  
  
Stiles swallowed. He already knew the answer to his question, but he needed to keep up appearances, "Do you know what attacked them? What kind of animal?"  
  
"We think it might be another mountain lion."  
  
There was a silence as they both recalled the past winter attacks by an alleged mountain lion, when things turned to shit between them.  
  
Stiles coughed lightly, "When do you go back in?"  
  
"Ten today."  
  
"You'll be careful, right?"  
  
"Always am."  
  
Stiles nodded and went back to his cereal as the sheriff poured his coffee and joined him at the table. They sat in a comfortable silence, each absorbed in their own thoughts.  
  
The teenager couldn't stop thinking about how dangerous it was for his dad to be out there with a rogue werewolf on the loose. Especially one that pretty much wanted Stiles' intestines on a stick, Stiles guessed. He wished he could keep his dad from harms way, but he couldn't do that without divulging how he knew it was dangerous for him.  
  
"Have you had anymore panic attacks since Sunday?"  
  
Stiles shook his head, drinking the milk from his bowl.  
  
"Any nightmares?"  
  
He considered lying, but opted for honesty. He hesitantly shook his head affirmatively.  
  
"Thought so. I keep waking up in the middle of the night to whimpering and I, at first, thought that it was a dog outside that wanted in, but I guess not." He took a sip of coffee, "Anything you need to talk about?"  
  
"Not really, they're just the same old stuff. Clowns. Zombies. You know, the norm of nightmares."  
  
"Uh-huh," the sheriff rolled his eyes, "Well I'll see you later, I've got to get ready and it looks like you're ready to shove off."  
  
Stiles nodded and the sheriff retreated back to his room for a shower. He, on the other hand, snagged his wallet, sunglasses, grabbed a pack of Oreos he stashed away, and filled a water bottle up just in time for Erica to knock on his door.  
  
"Hey Stiles! Ready to go?" And didn't she look stupendous again? She still wore the short skirts and corset-like tops, but she rocked them, hard. Lydia was waiting in the front seat of her car, a very nice Bentley convertible that she guilt tripped her parents into buying for her, looking flawless as always.  
  
"Stiles," Lydia greeted, "nice of you to join us." She reversed the car and headed out of town. "I know you're wondering what we're doing today, and quite frankly, Erica and I need dresses."  
  
Erica jumped in, "Jackson's having some sort of party tonight and we decided that we wanted new dresses. I haven't been dress shopping in a long time and I'd like to make Boyd go wild."  
  
Stiles snorted, "There's a joke in there somewhere."  
  
Lydia shot him a mild bitchface, "And the reason we brought you is--"  
  
"I remember the Winter Formal, Lydia, you don't have to trouble yourself."  
  
"Good, then you should know what's expected of you."  
  
There was silence as they raced down the road, then a thought struck Stiles, "When did you two become buddy-buddy? Why didn't we just go to Macy's in town for a dress?"  
  
Erica smirked, "We've had to spend a lot of time together since Boyd and I got back, and we begrudgingly accept each others' persistent existence in our lives."  
  
Lydia nodded, changing lanes, "And we already checked Macy's, so we're going to a boutique two hours away."  
  
Stiles knew that if they had already checked Macy's that meant that they went through every available option and decided against them all. Shit, he was in for a long day.  
  
Turned out, they went to the town where his cousins lived to shop. Stiles didn't mention that, but he was a little surprised. In the actual store, they ended up trying on more than thirty dresses each and only bought one each. It took four hours to decide on one. One dress for each of them. By the end of it, Stiles was munching on the Oreos like there was no tomorrow, trying to keep himself from going crazy.  
  
They stopped for a bite to eat at a cafe and then were back on the road. As they passed empty warehouses, Stiles had a knee-jerk reaction, "Stop the car."  
  
"What? Why?" Lydia demanded.  
  
"Lydia, stop the car." His voice was grave enough for her to listen. They pulled off to the side of the road, in a large empty lot where a building once stood. Stiles then scrambled out of the car.  
  
"Where do you think you're going?" Lydia yelled after him. "I will leave your ass here, Stilinski!" She would have done it too, if it hadn't been for the way Stiles was so focused on a particular building.  
  
Erica and Lydia hopped out of the car and followed him. Stiles didn't really pay attention to them as his feet pulled him to the right one. He knew it was the right one. After all, there was a blood smear on the door siding.  
  
Immediately, Stiles pushed through it and braced himself for what he expected to see. He was stunned into immobility, which caused Lydia and Erica to knock into him.  
  
"You mind explaining what this is all about?" Lydia snipped, "I have only a limited amount of time to get ready for tonight, and if I don't--"  
  
"Lydia," Erica elbowed her, nose in the air, "hold on a minute."  
  
The red-head huffed, irritated with the pair of them. She then watched as Stiles slowly traveled into the clean, non-bloody, non corpse-ridden, un-caged room. He circled the room, mouth agape, eyes wide.  
  
"I-I don't understand." He said softly. He searched around the room for the box of weapons, but found nothing. It was just an empty warehouse.  
  
"Stiles?" Erica asked, sniffing the room with a creased brow, "What don't you understand?"  
  
"Oh for heaven's sake! Can we just get out of here?" Lydia snapped.  
  
Erica turned on her heel, blond hair flying around her shoulders, "Lydia, shut up. It smells like blood in here."  
  
Her eyes widened a little, then she put on a level four bitchface, "I don't see any blood. This is possibly the cleanest, abandoned warehouse I have ever seen."  
  
Erica searched the room right along Stiles, "No, there was blood here. A lot of it. But. . . it was cleaned up with bleach. . . and Febreeze." She wrinkled her nose. "I'm smelling at least ten different bloods here."  
  
It clicked in Lydia's head, "Stiles," she said slowly, "is this where they raped you?"  
  
Erica's eyes shot between her two companions, "Who raped Stiles? When?"  
  
Stiles didn't say anything. He couldn't. Again, his skin constricted around him, chest compressing, and eyes tunneling. His heart rate accelerated as he fell to the ground, unable to keep himself up. His head rested in his hands, and he rocked back and forth, unable to comprehend the situation.  
  
"Stiles!" Erica yelled, falling next to him as Lydia ran up as well.  
  
Their voices sounded muffled to his ears, what with all the blood running past them. Only a few moments had gone by before there was a resounding slap across Stiles cheek.  
  
"Lydia! What the hell!" Erica screeched, wanting to strangle the red-head.  
  
While Erica was questioning Lydia's sanity, Stiles had snapped out of it, quite literally.  
  
"Good to have you back." Lydia said, cocking her head. She waited a moment, then continued, "So I'm going to go with a yes, this is where it happened, and considering how much Erica has detailed of the bloodbath, you weren't kidding when you said you had taken care of it."  
  
Stiles greedily drew in a breath, "Not even a little bit."  
  
After a moment, they all got up and went back to the car; Lydia having enough sense to lock it before they ran off. They drove in silence for a ninety percent of the way, then Lydia sighed.  
  
"Well, what else do you have to say, Erica?"  
  
The blonde's face had been screwed up in confusion since they left, "It's just. . . it didn't smell right."  
  
"Bloodbaths and rape are supposed to smell a certain way?" Stiles grumbled, shoving another Oreo into his mouth.  
  
"No, it's. . . something was different about it, and I know what it is, but I just can't think of it right now. It's like when you hear a song all throughout your childhood and then you think of it again, years later, and can't remember the name of it."  
  
Stiles, again, knew what she was referring to. It smelt like werewolves, confused and fighting for their rank.  
  
Erica blew out a breath, "Whatever. Stiles, pass me some Oreos."  
  
"They have a lot of sugar in them," Lydia warned, but Erica just shrugged, and Lydia reached back her hand for some as well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Today, my mom said, "I can't even imagine what it's like to come up with stuff like that." After I told her about the first two episodes of Hannibal. And I just kind of thought, "Oh really? Because I'm writing a story where one of the characters gets brutally raped and then they slaughter the rapists. Lol oops!"


	10. Play That Funky Music

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ain't no party like a Whittemore party.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Play That Funky Music by Wild Cherry. Seriously awesome song! If this doesn't get you dancing, I don't know what will.
> 
> Also, this was supposed to be a fun, light hearted chapter. Oops.

Lydia dropped him off at his house, thanking him for playing horse, and she sped off with Erica in tow. But not before promising to see him at the party. He walked into his house, texting Scott.  
  
"How was practice?"  
  
Scott replied with button mashing, "ghoagioaehghwi"  
  
"That bad, huh?" Stiles couldn't help but smile.  
  
"You are a dick for leaving me."  
  
"Says the werewolf with super athletic ability." Seriously! At least the guy could build muscles properly!  
  
"It doesn't stop the pain, you ass!"  
  
Fair point, but, "You'll live."  
  
"You suck."  
  
"Kisses, sweet cheeks." Stiles found his way to his room and turned on his computer.  
  
"You going to the party tonight?"  
  
"I'm thinking about it."  
  
"Do it. No balls."  
  
Stiles rolled his eyes, unlocking his desktop, "How does that constitute a 'no balls' reply?"  
  
"Yolo."  
  
If Stiles could scream, he would have, "Not you too! Stay away, you heathen!"  
  
"I'm at your front door."  
  
Stiles was moments from replying, but Scott was, in fact, at his door. He casually let himself in and up to Stiles' room.  
  
"Not cool, man."  
  
Scott laughed, "That's what happens when you leave your best friend at practice alone."  
  
"You had Issac there, don't complain to me."  
  
Scott smiled a little, "Yeah, but still." He watched as Stiles opened up Google and typed in, for the umpteenth time, 'how long does it take for my voice to return.'  
  
"You know, I could just take the pain from your throat and it wouldn't hurt to talk anymore." Scott suggested, flopping onto Stiles' bed.  
  
"Not happening."  
  
"Dude, come on! I've been practicing!"  
  
"On dogs. You've been practicing on dogs."  
  
"Cats too," Stiles allowed,  "but that's not the point! I can totally fix it up!"  
  
Stiles sighed, exiting Google, "Thanks, but no thanks."  
  
The werewolf grumbled unhappily, "Fine, but are you really going tonight?"  
  
"Yeah, Lydia threatened me with bodily harm and other things if I didn't go."  
  
"Speaking of the Queen herself, where did she take you today?"  
  
"Dress shopping."  
  
"Oh man!" Scott laughed mirthfully, "That might actually be worse than practice."  
  
"Four hours, Scott! Four hours to pick out one! One dress!" Stiles grimaced down at his feet that ached from standing so long with pounds of dresses in his arms.  
  
"Sucks, bro." Silence settled over them, then Scott asked, "Has Derek been sleeping in your bed?"  
  
Again with the heart rate, "Uh, yeah."  
  
Scott narrowed his eyes, "Why?"  
  
"I-I asked him to."  
  
"Dude. Please tell me you do not actually have a crush on him."  
  
"Well. . ."  
  
Scott groaned, "Why him? Of all people to move on from Lydia to, you choose Derek Hale."  
  
"I clearly desire the unattainable."  
  
Scott frowned, "I didn't mean it like that." he tried to back track to fix it, "I just meant, why didn't you pick someone like Danny? Danny's a good guy! He's smart, you both play lacrosse--"  
  
"He's not attracted to me, remember?"  
  
"--begrudgingly accept Jackson into your lives--"  
  
"I do not accept--"  
  
"--and you would make an adorable couple."  
  
Stiles thought about it, but then shook his head, "No. He isn't interested."  
  
"There has to be someone besides Derek!"  
  
"It's not going to amount to anything, anyway. It'll be another Lydia Martin, but with different genders."  
  
"Alright," Scott said, letting it drop.  
  
They ended up goofing around for an hour before Scott rushed home to get ready for the party. He said that he wanted to 'look his best' because Allison was going to be there. Stiles had rolled his eyes and let him leave.  
  
Stiles, on the other hand, texted Lydia, "Do I really have to go?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"Why?"  
  
"Because I said you are."  
  
"You don't control me!"  
  
He could practically see the raised eyebrow and disbelieving look, "Don't I?"  
  
Stiles sighed, "I just don't think I'm ready yet."  
  
It was a few minutes before Lydia texted back, and when she did, she said, "You'll never be ready unless you try. You'll have me, Erica, Scott, Issac, Boyd, Allison, Danny, and Jackson there if you need one of us."  
  
"That's nice and all, but Jackson being there isn't much of a comfort."  
  
"You two are friends and you know it. Why else would he let you drive his car?"  
  
She. . . had a point. As far as Stiles knew, nobody was allowed to drive Jackson's car unless he trusted them, so that was something, right? "I wouldn't know what to wear!"  
  
"Now you're just making up excuses."  
  
"Am not!"  
  
"Why would you suddenly care about what you wear to a party now of all times?"  
  
"Truth is, Lydia, I am studying to become a fashion designer for Dior."  
  
Even though he couldn't see her, he knew that she was calmly collecting herself enough to reply to him, "Plain t-shirt, wine jeans, Vans. Happy?"  
  
"Ecstatic."  
  
"Be here at eight-thirty or I will cut you."  
  
And there was the end of Lydia's patience with him! "Yes ma'am!"  
  
He showered at a leisurely pace, checked over everything again, applied some aloe on the worse ones, and retreated back to his room. Stiles was pulling on his pants when his dad knocked on the door.  
  
"Stiles?"  
  
Almost tripping, Stiles yanked on his jeans and pulled on his shirt to cover up the incriminating evidence. Just as his father was about to knock again, Stiles flung the door open.  
  
"Hey Dad!"  
  
"Going somewhere?"  
  
"Uh yeah, Jackson's having a party and invited everyone on the team, so. . ."  
  
The sheriff nodded, "Alright. Well, they found two more bodies in the woods, alive this time, and I have to go in. Even if you're going to a party, I expect you to be home or at Scott's before I get home. Understood?"  
  
"Yes sir."  
  
"Good, and Stiles?"  
  
"Yeah?"  
  
"Don't do anything reckless. I don't want to arrest my own son for intoxication or something, alright?"  
  
"Well I never!"  
  
"Uh-huh."  
  
"Fine! I won't be reckless. Promise."  
  
"You have a good time, then."  
  
"Yeah, you too! And don't forget to eat something. No burgers, no fries, or I will call Rita and have her put the fear of God in you!" Rita was an old, Korean War Veteran's wife, that worked as a secretary at the station part-time, and she was terrifying.  
  
The sheriff chuckled, "I don't doubt it. I'll see you later."  
  
"See ya." Stiles reeled his father in for a good hug and they parted ways. Stiles glanced at the clock, he was good, and pulled on his shoes.  
  
Bounding down the steps, Stiles walked into the kitchen and ate something. He didn't want to go there on an empty stomach when he knew there was going to be food and booze. Otherwise, he would end up nauseous the whole night because teenagers ate a lot of food, especially athletic ones.  
  
When it came time for him to leave, he checked himself one last time in the mirror and headed out.  
  
Jackson's place was lit from top to bottom and the music could be heard halfway down the street. Clearly, his parents were not home. Stiles parked a block or two away, not wanting get Jeep vandalized by some drunk kids, and walked up the door.  
  
As per party norms, he let himself in and headed straight for the kitchen where he knew there would be someone he knew. And there were, but it was Greenberg, already guzzling down a beer.  
  
"Stilinski!" he cheered, "My man! What is up?" Greenberg kind of turned into an affectionate I-love-everyone-in-this-bar person when he got drunk.  
  
Stiles politely smiled and snagged a bottle of water. He wasn't planning on getting drunk, he was not a fan of hangovers, and he drank it while heading out to the back to find someone else to talk to. Anybody but Greenberg.  
  
Wild Cherry thumped through the speakers around the pool and kids swayed with it, holding plastic cups and bottles. Boyd and Erica were among them, standing really close and staring lovingly, sickeningly, into each other's eyes. Issac was talking with Scott, probably about wolfy things. Danny had some guy pushed up against the wall of the pool and they were really going at it. Jackson and Lydia were linked arm-in-arm and were talking to Allison.  
  
Stiles squeezed through the masses of people to them. When he passed Scott, he slapped him on the shoulder, letting him know he made it, and waved at Erica. Boyd also gave him a nod. Allison saw him first, though.  
  
"Stiles!" she shouted over the music, "glad you made it!"  
  
Lydia eyed him up and down and he spread out his arms and spun. She nodded approvingly, and he let out a grateful breath. Everyone was being friendly, just like Lydia said, and then Jackson opened up his mouth.  
  
"So Lydia. Did you know that Stiles and Issac were seconds from making out in the parking lot yesterday?"  
  
Stiles' eyes widened and Lydia said, "I was there, and no. They were not going to make out."  
  
Allison also put in to the conversation, "Issac isn't interested in Stiles."  
  
Jackson smirked, "Maybe if Stilinski put out that would change."  
  
Lydia was horrified, "Jackson!"  
  
"Maybe if you bent over the table for him you might actually get some."  
  
"You need to stop!" Allison warned, eyes wide.  
  
"I bet that's what you and Greenberg were doing in the "old locker rooms." Weren't you, Stilinski?"  
  
Stiles' hand twitched restlessly.  
  
"You probably got bored with just one and you decided to let Issac in on it, didn't you? Wanted to have a little extra fun? I bet Issac would do it too! The two of them would probably make you do it."  
  
Fuck that. Stiles jabbed Jackson right in the solar plexus and turned away from them. He could faintly hear Lydia furiously yelling at him to never say things like that, and Jackson telling her to calm down and it was just a joke. Jackson also said that he knew Stiles wouldn't take it personally and only hit him because he was a little bitch.  
  
The thing is, he did. He did take it personally, and he fled back to the kitchen, needing something stronger than water to make him forget.  
  
Stiles just wanted one night, one, where he could forget all about the abductions, the bruises, the pain, and the rape. He was going to get it, too, one alcoholic drink after another.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next sevenish chapters all happen within the same night. Shit is about to get crazy.


	11. Drinking From the Bottle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Buzzed means that there is a colony of bees living in someone's head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Drinking From the Bottle by Calvin Harris feat. Tinie Tempah.
> 
> If you actually listen to these songs, in the second "bring the veuve clicqot" there is one random beat that is substantially louder than the others, and it frustrates me. Like: What are you doing there, random beat? Are you lost? Why you gotta be so loud?

By the fourth or fifth shot of tequila, the alcohol just slid right down his throat, no burn at all. He was hanging off people like it was his job and he hadn't seen any of his friends since he walked in two hours ago.  
  
Stiles had paced himself with his alcohol, really, he drank at least a bottle of water with every shot, but that didn't stop him from enjoying the buzzing in his brain. He somehow wandered out into the backyard again and nearly fell into the pool. Scott, being the great guy that he is, caught him before he was going to plunge in.  
  
"Hey! Scotty! My man!" Stiles flung an arm around his best friend and rested his head on the juncture between Scott's neck and shoulder. "How have you been buddy?" His voice was steadily returning throughout the night and he could talk louder and louder with each passing hour. It was nice, not having to whisper all the time.  
  
"How drunk are you?" Stiles thought he sounded exasperated, and that wouldn't do!  
  
"Have a drink!" Stiles held up his glass, filled with more tequila, "You sound a little grumpy, like grumpy cat. If cats could talk. Hey wouldn't that be cool! Talking cats."  
  
"I can't get drunk off this stuff, Stiles, you know that." Scott sighed, "What happened?"  
  
"Happened? Whaddya mean?" Stiles rolled around from his place and precariously balanced on his feet in front of Scott.  
  
"With Jackson."  
  
Stiles frowned, a confused look on his face, "Jackson?"  
  
"Yeah, you punched him and went back inside, like, two hours ago."  
  
Oh! "Oh yeah! Jackson said some not so nice things, you know? He's really kind of mean. I don't have a clue why Lydia stays with him," he leaned in to stage whisper, "but I think she may be co-dependent with anyone she's in a relationship with. Speaking of relationships. . ." Stiles blinked, thinking he saw a dark haired guy with stubble looming in the back of the party.  
  
"Speaking of relationships?" Scott prompted, keeping Stiles steady with hands on his elbows.  
  
"Are you and Issac in a bromantic relationship? I feel like you are and I can't relate to you anymore because I'm not a werewolf. I could've been one though! There was that time with Peter, and that time with the crazy experiment in the warehouse." A goofy grin spread across his face, "I could have been just like you! All awesome at lacrosse and getting some action. Maybe Allison would have dated me. She's pretty, you know? I hope you get back together, you're kind of made for each other. It's gross, really."  
  
"Whoa, whoa, wait! Back up a second! What time with Peter? What warehouse?" Scott shook his shoulders lightly, "Stiles!"  
  
Stiles wasn't listening anymore. He was watching the water of the pool dance in his vision. There was something really pretty about it and he just watched it. Meanwhile, Scott kept trying to get his attention.  
  
"Stiles!" Scott snapped his fingers in front of his face, finally getting his attention, "Jesus! What were you talking about earlier? Peter and a warehouse, remember?"  
  
Stiles stared at him blankly, then chuckled, "You've got a crooked jawline." He tapped the aforementioned crooked jawline and then walked away, swaying with the music and alcohol.  
  
He wandered back into the kitchen and grabbed an entire bottle of whiskey, his dad's favorite, and trudged back out the door with it, high-fiving Greenberg on the way out. Greenberg was alright when Stiles was drunk, they could become best friends five-ever!  
  
Twisting off the cap, Stiles sat in a lawn chair and took a huge gulp. Issac was frowning at him from across the way, so Stiles smiled and waved back. People passed in front of him to get to the house, and Issac was suddenly in front of him.  
  
"You really shouldn't do that." His frown deepening. The guy must have taken frowning classes from Derek.  
  
"Do what?" Taking another drink.  
  
He gestured to the bottle, "Drink so much."  
  
"It helps me." Stiles clutched the bottle to his chest, afraid Issac would take it away.  
  
Shaking his head, the werewolf disagreed, "No, it's hurting you! You can't even see straight!"  
  
"So?" Stiles rebutted with, "I don't need to see at all! I just need to forget." His eyes slipped closed.  
  
"Forget what?" His tone was angrily concerned.  
  
"Hmm?" Stiles mumbled.  
  
"What do you need to forget?"  
  
Stiles was puzzled. Had he said that? He couldn't really recall that, but he replied anyway, "About you stealing my best friend away from me! That totally goes against the bro-code!" Stiles then started to laugh for no apparent reason.  
  
Issac let out a huff and walked off. Lydia, Erica, and Allison soon replaced him.  
  
"Hey, my ladies!" Stiles winked at their unhappy faces.  
  
"Stiles?" Allison tentatively asked, "Are you alright?"  
  
"Sure, sure! Fine! Super dandy, in fact!"  
  
"Bullshit." Erica crossed her arms over her chest.  
  
Lydia narrowed her eyes, "You did not punch Jackson because you were 'super dandy,' now, answer the question: Are you alright?"  
  
Stiles' smile fell and he grumbled, "No. Why would Jackson say those mean things! I hardly ever do anything to him, and he goes and says that I would take any penis offered or shoved at me!" His eyes started to leak.  
  
"Stiles," Allison put a hand on Stiles' leg lightly, "we know you would never do that."  
  
"Nor did you deserve it," Erica added.  
  
"Wait what?" Allison spun to Erica.  
  
Lydia and Erica exchanged confused looks, "You didn't know?" Erica glanced at Stiles to make sure.  
  
"Know what?" Allison twisted her head between the three other teenagers.  
  
Lydia looked expectantly at Stiles, asking his permission to tell her. When Stiles waved it off with his bottle, she spoke, "Stiles was raped on his vacation with his father a few days ago by about ten?" she glanced at Erica who nodded, "Ten guys."  
  
Allison's hands clenched at her sides, "What." It wasn't a question and she was furious, "I just thought that what Jackson was saying was really inappropriate and he shouldn't make rape jokes at all. Now that I know what happened. . . shit, Stiles. I'm so sorry."  
  
Stiles slurred out a response with a smile, "S'all good! That's why I've got your daddy helping me out!"  
  
A spark lit up in Allison's eyes, connecting the pieces together, "Oh. If I had known--"  
  
"You would have what?" Erica shot back, "Saved him? It's too little too late for that."  
  
Allison glared, "I would have helped him! You don't have to be such a bitch!"  
  
Erica rolled her eyes, and just when Allison was seconds away from saying something else, Lydia interjected, "Shut up. Stiles, do you need anything?"  
  
But Stiles wasn't there. He had wandered off into the party again. There were people all around him, dancing, grinding, kissing, but Stiles just sort of swayed, bottle still in hand. Boyd found him like that.  
  
"Stiles."  
  
Stiles face split into a grin, "Boyd! Having fun?" He tried to step foreword so that he could hear Boyd's response better, but ended up tripping right into the guy's chest, "Oops! My bad!"  
  
"Stop that." Before Stiles could ask what he was supposed to stop, Boyd snatched the bottle from Stiles' hands and gave it to some kid walking past them.  
  
"Hey! That's no fair!"Stiles' face took on a kicked puppy look, "I wouldn't cock block you from your alcohol!"  
  
"Maybe because I don't drink alcohol."  
  
Honey eyes turned confused, "You don't? Well, you should! It's like a colony of bees pleasantly buzzing around in your head. They don't even sting!"  
  
Boyd simply looked at him exasperatedly. Stiles made a mocking face and turned away from the darker male with a wave. Next, Stiles found Danny, but, this time, it was on purpose.  
  
"Danny!" Stiles cheered, sidling up next to the goalie.  
  
"Hi Stiles."  
  
"I was wondering something--"  
  
"I'm still not going to answer if I find you attractive."  
  
Throwing back his head, Stiles laughed, "No, no, no! Not that! Although, I'll get it out of you one day! I was just wondering if you would take me to the club."  
  
Danny was disbelieving, "The club?"  
  
"Yup! I wanna get my groove on!"  
  
The tanner teen rolled his eyes, "You can get your groove on here."  
  
Stiles turned whiny, "But everyone keeps asking me mean questions! I just want to forget and get lost. . . you know?" Stiles' eyes were trying very hard to concentrate on Danny's, attempting to convey that he was serious.  
  
The goalie searched Stiles' eyes for a long time before he sighed, "Alright, I was going to head over there anyway."  
  
"You're the best!" Stiles threw his arms around him.  
  
Danny retaliated by yanking Stiles' arms off, "Yeah, yeah, but you'll owe me."  
  
"Whaddya need? Money? My bank account number? Social security? First born? Soul?"  
  
Stiles thought he heard Danny mutter, "I'm not a crossroads demon," but quickly he forgot he said anything as they approached Lydia. "Hey Lydia," Danny said over the volume of people and music, "thanks for inviting us. It was lots of fun, but we're going to head out. Okay?"  
  
Lydia narrowed her eyes, "And where exactly are you going?"  
  
Stiles happily chirped, "Da club!"  
  
Lydia turned to him and cocked her head, "'Da club,' huh?" she turned back to Danny, "Have fun, and keep an eye on him. He looks about ready to blackout."  
  
Danny groaned and nodded, "Yeah,yeah. I'll see you later."  
  
"Bye Lydia!" Stiles waved frantically.  
  
Lydia had one eyebrow raised halfway up her forehead as she watched them go. Once they disappeared in the kitchen she sought out her boyfriend to have a few choice words with him.  
  
Stiles followed Danny, "Hey, why did you thank Lydia? Isn't this Jackson's house? Wait, I know it's Jackson's house. There are pictures of him everywhere!" There really were. All the the available wall spaces were filled with pictures of teeny tiny Jackson, elementary school Jackson, middle school Jackson, and current Jackson. Tons of pictures, and none of them were embarrassing looking at all. Apparently the guy had great cheekbones from conception. Fucker.  
  
Danny closed the door behind him and stood outside the door, "Because she's the one that puts them on, and Jackson just hosts because he's got the space, and his parents aren't in town." Danny then gestured to Stiles' body, "Where are your keys?"  
  
"Keys?"  
  
"Yes, keys. I don't have a car yet, you're not driving, and we're not walking. Keys, Stiles."  
  
Realization lit up Stiles' eyes, "Right!" He quickly fished out the Jeep's keys and started to walk down the angled stairs to the road, "I parked that-a-way!"  
  
Danny nodded and they trudged to the blue Jeep. Stiles slid in the passenger seat as Danny started the engine. They were pulling out when Stiles said, "Hey, could you stop at my house? I've got to get somethings."  
  
The goalie side-eyed him, "If your dad is there, we're both fucked."  
  
"Nope, night shift! Something about another mountain lion."  
  
Danny's jaw tightened a little. He looked as if he was going to say something with the concern evident on his face, but instead he said, "Don't take too much time." He then directed the Jeep to the Stilinski household.  
  
Within minutes they were there and Stiles was scrambling in his nerd t-shirt drawer for the dagger. He didn't know why, but he felt like he should have it that night. A kind of just-in-case thing. Stiles stuffed it into one of his pockets, it easily descended into his pants. He snagged his fake ID on the way out of his room.  
  
Back in the Jeep, Stiles turned to Danny, "What happened to the guy you were making out with in the pool?"  
  
"He's at the club we're going to."  
  
"Why'd he leave?"  
  
"He had to work."  
  
"Are you dating a stripper?"  
  
" _Stiles_." Danny sighed, "No, he's a bar back. He restocks the alcohol."  
  
"Woo! More alcohol!" Stiles fist pumped in the air.  
  
"Yeah, speaking of, did you bring a fake ID for it because I am not using mine to get drinks for you. That shit can get us both thrown out and your dad called on us."  
  
Brandishing the plastic, Stiles smiled, "Yup! All prepared!"  
  
Danny just nodded and they were in front of the club in no time. Danny had connections so they were able to get in really fast with no problems and just a cursory glance at Stiles' ID.  
  
Once inside, Danny said, "Call me if you plan on leaving early so I can get a ride with someone." Stiles nodded, and Danny said, "Have fun," as he drifted toward the bar.  
  
Stiles was definitely planning on having _a lot_ of fun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No more public education, so hopefully that means more chapters in a week!
> 
> Also, whoever made mixtapes a thing? I would like to thank you in anyway possible. Money? Bank account number? Social security? First born? Soul? Really, name it and it's yours, mysterious maker of the mixtape.


	12. How We Do (Party)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gay clubs have some shitty screening and security procedures.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How We Do (Party) by Rita Ora
> 
> Readers! Please pay attention to the tags! There is a certain amount of spoilers in the tags if you look hard enough, squint a little, tilt your head to the side. . . the like.

The music was nearly deafening as Stiles got closer to the center of the floor. Male bodies were smashed together, many of them shirtless, and they reached out to Stiles as he smiled back at them. He pushed his way through and found his way to the edge of the large mass of people. That was when he heard a familiar voice.  
  
"Stiles! Baby, is that you?"  
  
Stiles spun around and found himself staring at wild, teased hair, lined lips, dark eye shadow, a sequenced dress, and elbow length gloves. "Jezebel? Is that you?"  
  
"In the flesh!" Jezebel pulled him into a hug, which he gratefully accepted, "What are you doing here?"  
  
Shrugging, he said, "Not much, partying I guess."  
  
She eyed him critically, "Did you drink before you came here?"  
  
Reluctantly, he nodded.  
  
She sighed, "I thought so, well looks like I can't get you drunk on my own." She waved it off, "Ah well, c'est la vie, as they say." She smiled at him, "Come on."  
  
"Where are we going?"  
  
"The ladies haven't seen you in months! I know that they miss you!" Jezebel lead him over to the hoard of drag queens that were lounging on the couches in the corner of the club. When they approached, they all threw their hands up in the air and screamed, "Ladies! Look who I found!"  
  
"Baby doll!" Deandra screeched, "Where have you been?"  
  
"We've missed you!" Monica pinched his cheeks.  
  
Raquel kissed his forehead, "You really must call us more often!"  
  
"Is that girl having another party?" Glenda asked, probably already on her fourth or fifth drink of the night, "That punch was hella good!"  
  
"Still as cute as ever!" Mimi complimented.  
  
Stiles endured the regulation amount of affectionate touching from his drag queen friends, even the cheek pinching. "It's nice to see you ladies again. How have you been?" He sat down on the couch next to Deandra and Jezebel.  
  
Raquel instantly started her gossip, "Well, Mimi was visiting a friend up in Washington when some lazy-ass fucker tries to hit on her. He tried to take her back in some creepy ass alleyway and have sex with her."  
  
Stiles' eyes widened, "What?" He turned to Mimi, "Are you okay? He didn't do anything right?"  
  
Mimi flipped her curled hair over her shoulder, "Hell no, I pulled out my pocket knife and sliced so close to his junk he was afraid he was going to become a eunuch."  
  
Monica smiled, "That's our girl. Ain't nobody be touching any of us without our permission!" There was a chorus of 'hell yeahs' and 'damn straights' from all the queens.  
  
Glenda patted Stiles on the shoulder, "Hey, baby doll, you alright? You got real quiet?"  
  
Stiles smiled, head swimming in the buzz of alcohol still in his system, "It's just-- I don't-- never mind."  
  
Jezebel hooked an arm around his shoulder, "Baby, you can tell us. We don't judge here."  
  
Stiles leaned into Jezebel's large hair, and with a small hitch in breath, he verbally said what happened to him for the first time, "I-I was raped."  
  
A huge collective gasp went around the ladies, and then they got mad. Jezebel promised to castrate them, Monica would set them on fire, Mimi would have the same thing happen to them, Raquel would beat them to death, and Deandra would slowly drain them of blood.  
  
Deandra squeezed Stiles shoulder, "Stiles, we're here for you, always. If this fucker finds you again, you just call us and we'll fuck him up." The others agreed.  
  
Stiles smiled, "Thanks, you ladies are awesome."  
  
They all flipped their hair over their shoulders and said, "We know." They all went on in their gossip and general chit chat. Eventually, they found themselves on the topic of boys.  
  
Glenda fanned herself, "Girls, I swear, if those Puerto Rican boys were any hotter, my panties would have been incinerated right off of me!"  
  
Mimi asked, wide-eyed, "You were actually wearing panties?"  
  
"Hell no!" There was a collective giggle around them all.  
  
Deandra knocked her shoulder against Stiles', "So Stiles, any cuties we should interrogate for you?"  
  
"Interrogate?" He asked, gulping down some water to flush out some of the alcohol in his system.  
  
Monica nodded, "Yeah, to make sure that they know that if they hurt you, we'll kill him and make it look like an accident."  
  
"That. . . that's a little violent, but I get what you're saying," Stiles laughed a little awkwardly, "Well, there was this guy. . ."  
  
Jezebel inhaled sharply, "I'm sensing a but coming."  
  
"But," Stiles continued, "I kind of ruined it."  
  
They all consoled him, telling him that there was no way that he could have done something like that, and they asked how he thought he ruined it.  
  
He rubbed his hands on his jeans, "Um, well, after the. . ." he waved his hand around, "you know, happened, I found someone that could teach me how to defend myself, right?" They all nodded, "Which is great and all, but this guy doesn't really like my teacher all that much. Actually, he would rather set him on fire than be around him for too long."  
  
Collective disapproval noises could be heard from them.  
  
"I, naturally, kept it a secret from him while he would stay the night in my bed and--"  
  
"Wait!" Mimi interrupted, "this guy stayed in your bed?" When he nodded, she asked another question, "Did you tell him any of what happened? Also, did you two have sex?"  
  
Stiles flushed, "N-no! We didn't have sex! He just. . . sort of, I don't know, consoled me while I slept? I guess. And no, I did not tell him any of what happened, nor do I plan to."  
  
Mimi spoke up again, "But if you like this guy, why didn't you tell him or something."  
  
"I'm getting there if you wouldn't interrupt," Stiles said pointedly. Mimi looked sheepish, and Stiles continued, "Anyway, he would stay the night and things were going alright. There was a moment when I think we almost kissed? We were really close, physically, and it looked like he wanted to. I definitely did, but it didn't happen." The ladies groaned, sad about his almost kiss, "Then, yesterday night, he found out that I was getting training from his arch nemesis. He freaked out, without letting my explain. Not sure if I would have explained or not, though. He said some things, really mean things, and he left in a dramatic flair, kind of his MO."  
  
"He just peaced out, just like that?" Monica asked.  
  
"Yeah, just like that."  
  
Jezebel frowned, "He wouldn't even let you explain?"  
  
Stiles shook his head.  
  
Deandra stated, "You're better off without him."  
  
"Deandra!" They were all appalled at her statement, and all the queens gave exclaimed her name.  
  
"What?"  
  
"Stiles obviously really likes this guy!"  
  
"The least you could do is offer a way to explain it to him!"  
  
"Seriously!"  
  
"What if this is true love?"  
  
"Apologize!"  
  
They spoke over each other until Stiles held up his hand, "It's alright. I don't really blame him. I'm not going to be upset with him over something he didn't know about, but it still hurts, you know? I don't think it would have worked out anyway, regardless if I had told him or not." Stiles ran a hand through his hair, "Things are complicated between us."  
  
"Un-complicate them." Raquel said.  
  
Stiles scoffed, downing the rest of his water, "Easier said than done." They chatted a little more and then they announced that they had to leave because they were going on a road trip to Las Vegas and they needed their beauty sleep.  
  
They all gave Stiles a kiss on his cheek as they left, reminding him to call them if anything note-worthy happened, and they were gone. He began to nurse another water when he had a horrible, awful, illegal idea.  
  
Naturally, he decided to pursue it, and within minutes of having the idea, Stiles found what he was looking for: drugs.   
  
There was a shady guy giving off a weird vibe, hands stuffed in his jacket pockets, and glancing around nervously. Stiles thought that if there was anyone in the club that would be selling drugs, it would be him.  
  
"What's up man?" Stiles asked the guy, all smiles.  
  
They guy twitched around a bit, trying to see if Stiles was genuine, "Uh, not much. You need something?" He sounded like he knew Stiles was there to waste his precious time.  
  
"Depends, what have you got?"  
  
His eyes lit up in excitement, "Oh-oh I've got all kinds of stuff! I've got some X, grass, dots, angel dust, white lady, no Tina though. Ran out earlier."  
  
Stiles nodded, pleased he decided to check out the sketchy guy, "I'll take some dots and angel dust." Stiles reached for his wallet, but the guy stopped him.  
  
"Nah man," he licked his lips nervously, "my supplier and I ain't about that shit. We distribute on a non-profit basis."  
  
"That's. . . kind of dumb, actually." Stiles frowned, putting away his wallet.  
  
"Nah man," they guy pulled out two small baggies with half doses each, "the way we see it is that we just want people to have a good time, and if they don't have to spend money to do it, they'll keep coming back."  
  
"So how do you buy the drugs?"  
  
"My supplier has some fancy, high-paying job and he lives alone. Said something about getting into the business because he was bored. Rich people stuff, I guess."  
  
Stiles shrugged, "Whatever, man." He took the baggies as discreetly as he could and walked away. As soon as he was in the thick of the dance floor, he opened up the dots baggie and put one on his tongue. The thing dissolved fairly quickly. While it took its time to take effect, Stiles threw his body against anyone close to him, gyrating against them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I graduated on Friday and from Thursday to Sunday, I went to 17 different graduation parties. That means I am done socializing for the rest of the year, right?
> 
> Also: *violently kicks down your front door, finds you in shower, rips curtain/door aside* TEEN WOLF TONIGHT, MOTHERFUCKERS! *hip thrusts vigorously*


	13. Give Me Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Drugs can fuck a person up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Give Me Love by Ed Sheeran (I know, I'm repeating artists, YOLO and all that shit).
> 
> Pro-tip for this chapter: If you listen to the songs while reading, right when the middle 8/collision part of the song is (3:05 for the official music video, it has an angel in it.) right when Stiles is running in the streets, you'll get a taste of what I experienced when I wrote this chapter.

The effects started off slowly. While some muscled guy was grabbing Stiles' hips and grinding into his ass, he felt like he was being touched softly by feathers. Another guy moved in front of Stiles and mouthed at his neck. Stiles tilted his head back and opened his eyes.  
  
There were little fireflies in the ceiling. He giggled and the two men hummed against him.  
  
"You like that?" One of them huskily whispered into Stiles' ear.  
  
Despite the panic and bile rising in his throat, he nodded. They continued ravaging his body. Meanwhile, the feathers from before were no longer soft. It suddenly felt like they were drilling into his skin, causing him to wince a little.  
  
He must have tensed up because the guys were rubbing their hands down his sides, "Shhh, baby, we're going to take good care of you tonight."  
  
"Fill you up with our cum."  
  
"Bite down on your pretty, little neck."  
  
"Make you cum until you can't walk anymore."  
  
Hands wandered their way up Stiles' shirt and he swallowed down his discomfort. Truthfully, he wouldn't mind what they were suggesting, but not from them. He wanted that from someone else. Well, he did, until a few days ago.  
  
Fingers deftly unbuttoned his jeans, slid down the zipper, and traced the waistband of his boxers. Stiles' hands clenched and unclenched at his sides, and he waited for what he knew would happen next. However, it never came.  
  
Instead, they two guys were roughly jerked off of him, "Get lost guys!" Danny's voice said, irritated.  
  
One of them said, "He was enjoying it!" A few people turned around to see what all the noise was about.  
  
"Like hell he was!" Danny peered into Stiles' eyes, and had both of the guys against the bar by their collars in a blink, "What the fuck did you give him?" People stopped dancing and formed a semi-circle around them.  
  
Both of them pushed at Danny, but he wasn't budging, "We didn't give him anything! He was like that when he got on the floor!"  
  
"Yeah man! Honest! We didn't give him anything! But he was enjoying it, weren't you?" They all turned to look at Stiles, even the crowd.  
  
Stiles hadn't really been paying attention. The feathers were digging more painfully into his skin, and kept seeing huge, hulking shadows sneak around the room at the peripheries of his vision. His heart was beginning to pick up speed, and there was a slight tremor in his body.  
  
"Danny," the bartender urged, "you can't fight in here! You'll get thrown out!"  
  
Danny worked his jaw in frustration for a moment, "Stay away from him, understand?"  
  
"Whatever man," they pushed off of Danny and went back into the crowd. The people that were gathered slowly dissipated when they saw there would be no fight.  
  
The goalie went over to Stiles, "Stiles?" He gave a shake to his shoulders, "Stiles! What did you take?"  
  
Honey eyes swiveled over to chocolate eyes, "Hey Danny! What happened to your boyfriend? Where did those guys go? I think they wanted to have sex with me." Stiles scratched viciously on his arm, "Have you seen the guys with the yellow eyes walking around the club?"  
  
"Never mind about my boyfriend, and a bigger never mind about those assholes. They were going to take advantage of you! You don't want your first time to be with those sleazeballs, do you?" Danny swiped his thumbs under Stiles' eyes, wiping them of tears.  
  
Had he been crying? When did he do that? "First time?" Stiles swayed a little, digging a little harder into his skin, "They wouldn't be my firsts," he frowned deeply, "or seconds, or thirds, or fourths, or fifths, of sixth-"  
  
"What do you mean, Stiles?" Danny interrupted, separating his arms from each other to prevent him from scratching more. The Stiles Stilinski he knew was an awkward virgin that had absolutely no-game with Lydia, no matter how hard he tried. He never would have had sex with Lydia. Partly because she would outright refuse to, and partly because the last weeks of school, they had been very buddy-buddy with each other. Platonically buddy-buddy, though.  
  
"What's today, Danny?"  
  
He shook his head, thrown for the sudden question, "It's Thursday."  
  
"No, like the date." Stiles lightly tugged at his confined limbs.  
  
"It's June 13th, you know, we just got out of school last Friday? Beginning of summer? Any of this ringing a bell?"  
  
Stiles hummed in his throat, "We've been out of school for only six days?"  
  
Danny snapped Stiles back into focus, "It doesn't matter, Stiles! What do you mean when you said they wouldn't be your firsts and whatevers?"  
  
"It does matter though!" Stiles insisted, "A lot can happen in six days!" Six days ago, he and his dad drove directly from his last day of sophomore year to the motel two hours away. In the back of his mind, he asked himself how everything got so fucked up since then. Well, more fucked up than they had been.  
  
Stiles realized that Danny was still expecting an answer."Some guys are really mean, you know that?" Stiles mumbled, "Some of them chain you up and force you to do things you don't want to do. It's not nice. It's not fair!" Stiles stared wide-eyed at Danny after a pause, "Have you seen the guys with the yellow eyes walking around?" He asked again.  
  
Danny blinked, trying to acclimate himself to the sudden direction change in topics, "What guys?"  
  
"The not nice ones."  
  
"Stiles, were you--?"  
  
Stiles started to ruthlessly tug on his arms that Danny still held captive. "They're getting closer! Danny! Danny, please! Let me go! I have to--"  
  
"There aren't any yellow-eyed people here, I promise."  
  
"No Danny! There are! They're right there! Please let me go!" Stiles yanked himself free and tried to bolt to the door, but was instantly blocked by a muscled chest. He looked up into Derek's eyes, which glinted red for the barest of moments, "No!" Stiles' voice rasping out, and he clawed at Derek's chest and past him, running for the exit.  
  
He nearly tripped over his feet running, and he didn't stop until he was a good two and a half blocks away. Even then, he didn't stop because he wanted to, he stopped because Derek made him.  
  
Stiles thrashed against him. The prickles against his skin turned excruciating and the yellow-eyed men were nearly on top of him again.  
  
Derek held onto Stiles' hands, "Stiles! Would you listen to me for one goddamn minute?" Derek huffed, a yellow eye right behind his left ear, "Boyd and Issac said you were acting really--"  
  
Stiles kneed him in the stomach and bolted. His feet carried him to the tree line, not far from him, and he plunged into the foliage. He could feel the yellow-eyed omegas' breath on the back of his neck, which only caused him to run faster.  
  
"Stiles!" Derek called after him, catching up fast.  
  
His brain somehow connected Derek chasing him with the omegas, and Derek was there to finish what they started. Stiles was terrified, he didn't even see the wayward roots in the ground and ended up flying through the air for a moment. He landed on his stomach, hard, just as he felt the omegas and Derek close in on him.  
  
Stiles frantically shook his head, voice paralyzed, as he felt the omegas rip into his skin anew. Salty tears leaked from his eyes, writhing on the leaves of the forest floor, Derek knelt next to him, unsure of what to do.  
  
The alpha's hand hovered awkwardly over the teenager, torn between letting the fear ride out on Stiles, and trying to snap him back to reality.  
  
Meanwhile, the omegas were tearing off his clothes again, shoving themselves into his body, and biting everywhere they could reach. A whimper slipped past his lips as he swore he felt one of them stick his claws straight threw his stomach. He curled himself on his side, drawing his knees to his chest.  
  
Derek watched, mouth slack. What the hell was happening to him? He vaguely remembered that certain drugs were hallucinogens, thank you sophomore health, and he figured that was what Stiles had taken at the club. But why? Why would he need to take something like that?  
  
He swallowed guiltily and realized that it probably had something to do with what he said. He knew that saying the thing about Stiles' dad was low, even for scum it was low, and he regretted it as soon as he said it. But Stiles was still training to be a hunter, what was he supposed to do? Just idly sit by and let Chris Argent train Stiles into becoming a brutal killing machine against his kind? Hell no!  
  
The alpha did not regret saying anything, except for Stiles' dad being so proud of him. Derek hated traitors.  
  
Stiles wanted to scream, call for help, but he could feel a gag of anatomical nature in his throat, preventing any speech. He didn't want this. Not again. Not ever. He just wanted to go curl up next to his cousins and play.  
  
He swore that he could feel claws raking slowly down his skin, fangs clamping over any part of his body, penises shoved in any available space the omegas could find, and blood and omega semen running down his body in streams. Not even a moment later, Stiles quickly uncurled himself from his fetal position and puked all over the dead leaves, twigs, and grass.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lots of differences between the two versions this time!
> 
> Running the Tough Mudder and Color Run this coming Saturday and Sunday, so I'm hoping to have a chapter finished before I leave so I can just copy, paste, and post! THEN on Monday I go to orientation at UW until Tuesday, which I will be wearing my Teen Wolf fan-made shirt, and Dean Winchester, "Driver picks the music," shirt! I'm hoping to find a college buddy to watch Teen Wolf with!


	14. Battle Scars

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles' phone really hates water.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Battle Scars by Lupe Fiasco & Guy Sebastian --- Every single time I hear this song on the radio while I'm driving, I would play out this chapter in my head. And then try and not drive off the road!
> 
> If you ever say Scott McCall was a shitty friend, I will find you and cut you. (◡‿◡✿)

Derek bent down and picked up Stiles, who, surprisingly, let him without a fight. Stiles was still conscious, but he was also so tired. So very tired, and letting Derek carry him to a safer place sounded fantastic. He was still upset with Derek, though.  
  
"Did you drive yourself to the club?" Derek's voice was rough, uncomfortable, as he carried the teenager bridal style back onto the paved roads.  
  
Stiles minutely nodded, not saying anything else. He was beating himself up again. Why would he do that? Why would he risk his father's career like that? If he was arrested for intoxication, his dad would lose his job because of him, again. What if he spilled about what happened to him to Danny? Oh shit. Had he accidentally gotten Danny mixed up in the werewolf business? Danny didn't deserve that.  
  
Quicker than he thought, they were back at Stiles' Jeep. Stiles reached in his jeans and pulled out his keys, relinquishing them to Derek. Derek opened up the passenger side, carefully set the teenager down, and then hurried around to the driver's side. He started the car and they were quickly on their way back to Jackson's house.  
  
As they were speeding down the roads, Stiles could audibly hear Derek's hands squeezing too tightly on the steering wheel. He chanced a glance over to the werewolf and saw Derek's eyes narrowed, his jaw set in a firm line, and his entire body language was tense and angry. Great. Stiles averted his eyes from Derek, clutching at his still rolling stomach, all the way to Jackson's.  
  
At Jackson's house, there were only a few cars, all of them Stiles recognized as his classmates', so they parked very close to the front door. Derek parked and turned off the engine, and Stiles struggled a bit trying to grasp the door handle to get out. After some failed attempts, he got it and he stumbled out onto the pavement.  
  
Scott appeared at the front door as Stiles was halfway up the steps, "Stiles! Glad you're here! Jackson needs help cleaning up from the party, and the rest of the lacrosse team dipped out." When Stiles was within arms reach, Scott carefully took his elbow and lead him to the backyard where it was horrendous.  
  
There were beer cups in the pool, chips everywhere, someone's pants in the tree, bras underneath chairs, and tons of shoes left everywhere. Stiles turned to his best friend and gave him an incredulous look.  
  
"Dude, I know." Scott sighed, "Two guys were getting into a fight and a girl called 911, so everyone ran like hell. Why would she do that? You know that when guys fight, as soon as eye contact is broken, fight is over. Anyway, can you stay and help?"  
  
Stiles sighed too, but nodded.  
  
"Great!" Scott beamed, "Here's a trash bag for actual trash and here's one for recyclables."  
  
Stiles raised an eyebrow in question.  
  
"It's part of my summer-long 'be a better me' thing," Scott shrugged, "save the earth and whatnot."  
  
Stiles resisted the urge to roll his eyes, and ended up starting to pick up all the bottles, cups, and chips he could. Every so often, he would lift his head and find Allison or Lydia inside the kitchen wiping everything down, or Erica and Boyd collecting all the bras together, or Issac gathering the shoes. He, however, did not see hide nor hair of the esteemed host: Jackson Whittemore, or Scott, or Derek, but he probably went to his fancy loft.  
  
After ten minutes of sweeping chips into trash bags, Stiles could hear two male voices yelling at each other from inside.  
  
"How is any of it your business?"  
  
"It is my business!"  
  
Stiles quickly realized that it was Derek and Scott having another row.  
  
Scott yelled back, probably throwing his hands up in the air, "Why? Because you're the alpha of all in Beacon Hills? Newsflash! You're not my alpha. You're not Stiles alpha. End of story."  
  
"Like you're actually his alpha?" Derek snorted.  
  
"No! You don't have to be the boss of someone to get them to like you! Stiles is my friend, my best friend, and I don't need to start controlling his every move."  
  
"Maybe you should."  
  
Scott most likely crossed his arms in offense, "And what is that supposed to mean?"  
  
"It means that something happened to your best friend that he hasn't told anyone the whole truth about. Not to you, not to his dad, not to anyone."  
  
"Stiles is allowed to have secrets."  
  
"Not when he's this close to danger! He could get killed! Or accidentally turned into a werewolf!"  
  
"You mean like how I was?"  
  
"Peter was not my fault. You shouldn't have been in the woods that night anyway!"  
  
"Sorry 'bout it! Stiles wanted to see the body and I didn't want him to go alone. That's what best friends do! They trust each other enough to let the other have secrets and not let them go alone places where the could get hurt!"  
  
"Clearly you've been a shitty best friend, then."  
  
That was it for Stiles, he burst into the room where the two werewolves were arguing. Scott had never been a shitty friend. Ever. Scott McCall was the best friend that anyone could ask for. But as he was about to say something, Jackson appeared in behind them.  
  
"Stiles!" a suspicious grin spread across his face, "Just the guy I've been looking for!" Jackson stepped between the two other werewolves and looped his arm around Stiles' shoulders.  
  
Stiles was instantly displeased.  
  
"Listen, since you ditched out on the party before a near riot happened, you get the honor of fetching all the shit in my pool out." Jackson picked up the pool strainer and thrust it into Stiles hands, "Got it."  
  
"Hey!" Scott turned around to face Jackson, "That's not cool! It'll take him hours to do that!"  
  
"Well," Jackson nonchalantly pushed his hands into his pockets, "he better get started then, shouldn't he?"  
  
Scott's eyes flashed the gold and was over at Jackson in a heartbeat. Jackson instantly flashed his blue and they were pushing each other's chests.  
  
"Watch it!" Scott yelled.  
  
"How about you watch it, McCall!"  
  
"Jackson!" Lydia screeched from the doorway.  
  
Derek yelled, "Scott!" trying to stop him.  
  
They had gripped each other's biceps and were twisting away from each other. They had also forgot to realize that Stiles was still standing next to them. One good, far enough twist to the right sent Stiles straight into the pool, strainer in hand. The last thing Stiles saw was Derek walking back into the house, shaking his head in frustration.  
  
Instantly, the water rushed around him and he kicked his way to the surface. He neared the edge and with the help of Scott and Erica, Stiles hoisted himself up and out of the pool.  
  
Water dripped into his eyes as he began shucking his clothing. He quickly undid his belt, as Erica  got Boyd to go get a few towels for him. He threw the belt on the ground. He then pulled out his water-logged phone and handed it to Scott. With difficulty, he wedged the button out of the hole on his jeans, unzipped the zipper, and shucked the pants right off. Stiles then pulled the clinging, cotton shirt over his head, at the same time Boyd came back with the towel. Stiles reached for it, nodding, but he was frozen in place, eyes on Stiles' body.  
  
For a moment, Stiles couldn't think of any reason why anyone would want to see his gangly form, but then he remembered what it looked like, and how it was so much worse than normal. Once realizing his horrible mistake, he thought about trying to cover himself up, but he was already exposed. Steeling himself, he looked up at the rest of the rag tag group.

It was devastating.  
  
Lydia had her teeth clenched with tears forming in her eyes. Allison held her hand over her mouth, as if she were going to scream, or worse, throw up. Boyd had his jaw hanging open a little, and Erica looked like she was frozen trying to reach out to him with a disbelieving look on her face. Jackson swallowed when Stiles met his eyes and looked away, a little afraid. Issac had his arms crossed protectively over his chest, avoiding looking at the extent of the scars Stiles sported. Scott had his jaw hanging open, and his eyes were flashing from revenge gold to pained brown.  
  
Stiles tried to hold his chin high through their scrutiny, but it became more and more difficult with each passing moment. He just wanted to curl up into a ball, hide under a rock, and live there for the rest of his life. He had never been so humiliated in his sixteen years.  
  
"Stiles. . ." Scott tried, "How. . . When did. . . Why. . . ?" words failed him as he tried to grasp the sight in front of him. His eyes kept flitting over each new mark on his body, trying to find something less painful for him to look at. It wasn't working.  
  
Allison also tried to say something, "Was this from-- Did he do--." she ended up covering her mouth again and letting out some tears.  
  
Lydia sniffed, "When you said you took care of it, you weren't kidding."  
  
"But," Erica continued from where Lydia left off, "you never said what they were."  
  
In a flurry of heightened senses, the werewolves all cocked their head and then looked down, obviously caught doing something they shouldn't have been doing. The humans were confused for a moment, then Derek walked out like he had something very important and alpha-ish to say to everyone. Except the words died on his lips as he was glancing around and his eyes got stuck on Stiles.  
  
It took three quick, long strides to approach Stiles, two deep breaths to calm himself, and one action to send everyone into an uproar. Derek's hand latched onto Stiles' upper arm fast and hard, and the girls were on him in a moment.  
  
"Don't touch him!"  
  
"Get off!"  
  
"Step back!"  
  
Derek's eyes flashed at Erica, getting her to submit, but Lydia and Allison stood firmly in Derek's way. The alpha, however, ignored both of them, "What happened, Stiles?"  
  
Stiles didn't say anything, but he did self-consciously rub his upper arm, right where Derek grabbed him.  
  
"Stiles!" Derek bellowed, getting Stiles to flinch, "I can see the wounds! Tell me what happened!"  
  
"Back off!" Allison spat, furious.  
  
Derek suddenly directed his attention to her, "Oh? And why should I? Because some teeny, huntress-wannabe says to? Get out."  
  
"You need to stop right now." Lydia said firmly, tears spilling down her cheeks.  
  
Derek realized what they were getting at, "I didn't do any of that to him! I haven't seen him since Jackson's turning."  
  
Erica's eyes shot up, "That's a lie."  
  
"You were in his room," Scott put in, "I called Stiles as soon as I was sure he was back from his vacation and you were in his room."  
  
Allison spewed venom, "And why would an alpha werewolf be in a teenage boy's bedroom? Did you get too angry and needed a punching bag and Stiles was the first available, breakable option?"  
  
Her words rang in the air for a moment, letting them sink in to that possibility, but Issac stammeringly spoke up, "H-he didn't do it."  
  
All eyes went to the curly haired teenager.  
  
Issac clutched the sides of his shirt in his hands, "If-if he had don't it, Stiles would have been a werewolf days ago because Derek's an alpha. There are tons of bites on him, and they haven't healed all the way. Besides, all those bites are different sets of teeth, and unless Derek can change his dental structure at will, he didn't do it."  
  
Everyone knew he was right as soon as the words processed. Suspiciously, Derek slowly spun around the group. He pointed at the three girls, "You knew something too, didn't you?"  
  
"So?" Lydia said defiantly.  
  
Derek rolled his eyes, "So, that could have been useful information days ago!"  
  
Allison swallowed, "It wasn't our story to tell."  
  
Derek blew out through his nose heavily, and pointed at Jackson, Boyd, and Scott, "None of you knew anything."  
  
Numbly, the three werewolves nodded. Scott looked heartbroken and betrayed.  
  
Derek swiveled around to Issac and narrowed his eyes at his beta, "You knew."  
  
Issac averted his eyes. Hesitantly, he nodded quickly, "I knew about some of them."  
  
"Them?" Derek asked for clarification.  
  
"I knew about some of the scars. J-just the ones on his stomach and chest."  
  
"And you didn't think to say anything?" Derek took one step closer to his beta with each question, "To ask what happened? To take away some of the pain?"  
  
"I did!" Issac practically whimpered.  
  
Derek, noticing how he had been acting, straightened himself, "Did you?"  
  
"He wouldn't tell me, alright? I tried to take his pain away and he told me that it was his." Derek's eyes bored into his beta for a moment longer. Issac suddenly lunged at Boyd.  Issac yanked the towel from the darker skinned male and threw it at a ready Stiles. "Just let him dry off, for fuck's sake!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You ever have that thing that you do and when you're done it makes you feel like a giant bruise? Yeah, that's me at the moment. On the bright side: My Sterek and Dean Winchester shirts were only two hours away. I am excite!
> 
> Oh! And Peter shows up in the next chapter!


	15. Post Blue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pictures are worth a thousand words, but videos are worth a million more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Post Blue by Placebo. I heart this song so much! I kiss it! MWAH!
> 
> Last week I went to Anaheim, California for my FBLA National Leadership Conference, hence no chapter, but I did work on it at the airport. It was kinda nerve-racking because 1. I have a huge 17inch laptop so it's pretty evident I was doing something 2. I was surrounded by chapter members that have no clue I write, 3. Some friends kept asking what I was writing and if they could read it. GAH! NO BAD STOP! Like: What do I say to that, "I'm writing a chapter for my Sterek fanfiction that features rape, torture, depression, panic attacks, and porn in future chapters. Sure you can read it after I finish! :D" . . . NO!

Jackson had gone upstairs to get some dry clothes for Stiles. He didn't need to be asked to do it either, he just got up and helped out. Stiles was sitting in a very fluffy towel on Jackson's couch, pushing the dagger lengthwise into his thigh. He could feel it in his bones that he would need it very soon, but he couldn't exactly say why.  
  
In the mean time, Allison, Erica, and Lydia snagged the First Aid kit from Mrs. Whittemore's closet and were checking over Stiles' worst. Scott flinched every time they dabbed something on him, or when they even touched him lightly. Many times he asked if he could help by taking the pain away, but each time Stiles adamantly shook his head, just like he had been doing to any other werewolf that tried to do the same.  
  
Issac kept his arms firmly wrapped around himself, occasionally glancing over to make sure Stiles was still alive. Boyd sat in a plush, arm chair, hands firmly clenched together and his eyes trained on Erica and Stiles. Derek. . . well Derek was outside pacing.  
  
Stiles could see Derek walking furiously back and forth past the doors. If he kept at the pace he was going, Derek would have a rut in no time, Stiles was sure of it. He could see Derek's hands clench and unclench as he walked, as well. His broad shoulders were tense and drawn close to his ears.  
  
"Here." Jackson had come back down and gently handed Stiles a pair of sweatpants and a Henley. He then stepped back near Boyd, looking uncomfortable. Not uncomfortable at Stiles' near nudity, but uncomfortable at the fact that he, Jackson Whittemore: all-knowing, self-proclaimed best-at-everything guy at Beacon Hills High School, had not realized that anything happened to Stiles at all.  
  
The girls moved away, deeming him as good as he would get in his state. Stiles pulled the Henley over his head in jerking motions, carefully setting the blade next to him. He then clutched the towel to his waist and stood up. The teenager fidgeted around a little, trying to figure out how he would get the pants on without dropping the towel.  
  
"Here, dude, let me help you," Scott immediately volunteered, anything to be helpful. He held out his hands for the ends of the towel. Stiles turned toward the couch, held out the ends, and Scott took them, blocking anyone from seeing him. Scott also turned away as to respect Stiles' privacy.  
  
Stiles really could have gone to the bathroom, but he really didn't want to be alone after a big reveal like that. He needed everyone there, even Jackson, for comfort. He couldn't put it into complete sentences, but after accidentally revealing that he was used as a scratching pole, he just wanted to know that his friends didn't find him repulsing. He needed to know that regardless of what happened, they would still accept him, fragile human skin and all.  
  
He gave Scott a nod in appreciation and sat down. The moment his butt connected back with the couch, Peter Hale waltzed in the front door. He stopped abruptly, peering at them all, and cocked his head. "Was there a party I missed?" He acted confused, but he knew that there was a party. Jackson had been raving about it for days beforehand, and he was a werewolf. There was no way that Peter wouldn't have been able to smell them and hear all their heartbeats coming up to the house.  
  
Before anyone could react, Derek was poised inside the living room, ready to pounce, "Get out."  
  
Peter rolled his eyes, "Calm down, Derek, I'm only here to show you something." He gestured around the room, as if seeing everyone there for the first time, "In fact, to show you all something."  
  
"What is it?" Derek bit out.  
  
Ignoring his nephew, Peter turned to Jackson, "Is there a computer I could use?"  
  
Jackson, taken aback, confusedly nodded, "Uh. . . yeah. It's in the basement." He got up and showed them all downstairs.  
  
Of course Jackson would have a projector in his basement that he could hook up a computer to, of course. While Peter logged onto his email, everyone found a seat among the fancy furniture.  
  
"So," Peter started nonchalantly, typing calmly, "I'm assuming you know what happened to our dear Stiles."  
  
Scott's head shot up to the elder Hale, "How do you know what happened to Stiles?"  
  
Lydia muttered, "He probably did it."  
  
Peter put on his best bitchface, "Someone is still holding a grudge. You weren't turned and you probably would never have realized your immunity if I hadn't bitten you."  
  
"Did it every occur to you that I didn't care to know of my immunity?" Lydia smiled tightly.  
  
"Yet look at all the fun you've had."  
  
"Yes, it's always fun to be hospitalized, have hallucinations, be manipulated, and defy the laws of nature."  
  
"There is no need to be cross about it." Peter pouted.  
  
Lydia exploded, "There is every need to be--"  
  
"Enough!" Derek interjected, "Just show us what you came here to show us."  
  
Peter sighed, "Very well, and no, I, in fact, had nothing to do with what happened to Stiles. I'm only the messenger, and you know what they say about messengers?" Peter opened up an email with a subject line saying, 'Three: Observation,' clicked on the attachment, "You're not," the attachment downloaded and opened, "supposed to shoot us."  
  
The video opened up with someone very close to it, turning it on presumably, and as they backed away, they were revealed to be Gerard Argent. Gasps and growls surrounded the room.  
  
"Shhhh," Peter chastised, "Oh, none of you have eaten within the last forty-five minutes or so, right?"  
  
Allison glanced worriedly to Erica and Lydia.  
  
Gerard Argent moved out of the way to reveal Stiles dangling from his wrists, unconscious. There were also twelve men lurking behind Stiles' body, and they were practically vibrating with energy. Gerard moved off screen and reappeared with a Taser, he took his time turning it on, he was even humming, and finally jabbed Stiles side with it.  
  
Stiles woke with a jolt and grunt. As he got his bearings, the video picked up the realization in his eyes, "Oh shit." Stiles on the video said.  
  
"Awake, are we?" Gerard had said, "Good." He gestured for one of the men to come foreword, "Strip him." One did as he commanded, and his claws extended to tear Stiles clothes off his body.  
  
Derek stood immobilized by the sight in front of him. For, probably, the first time, Derek realized what danger Stiles was in being associated with werewolves and even having a best friend that was one. How could he have been so blind to the fragility of a teenager he inadvertently got involved in his werewolf life? Once again, it was another thing he had done wrong in his time as alpha.  
  
They all watched as Gerard spat insults at Stiles, Scott let out a growl as the bastard insulted Stiles' mother. Stiles knee connecting with the old man's stomach, claws, werewolves. They saw Stiles try to reason with them before the first one violated him. They saw Stiles being lowered then another werewolf shoving into his mouth. They saw all of the omegas ejaculate all over Stiles. They saw the moment Stiles lost his voice. They saw Gerard try to recruit him. They saw Stiles refuse, and they saw Gerard knock him out.  
  
As soon as Stiles body went limp, Gerard pulled out a remote that dropped the chain far enough for Gerard to reach Stiles hands. The man went over to the teenager, the omegas shying away immediately, and he unchained his wrists. Gerard then retrieved a bucket of water and he thoroughly wiped Stiles down.  
  
"Shame that he loves those vermin so much. He'd be a nice addition to the hunting world, and if not an informant or an actual hunter, a concubine." Gerard laughed to himself.  
  
The whole time, Stiles had sat in silence, reliving the horror of what happened to him, gripping the handle of the dagger so tightly that his knuckles were aching, but as soon as Gerard has spoken, he was on his feet.  
  
"Stiles," Lydia tried, "I'm--I. . ."  
  
Scott looked at his best friend with a mix of adoration and disgust. Stiles knew in the back of his mind that the disgust was not aimed at him, but it didn't stop it from hurting.  
  
"But wait!" Peter called out, "There's more!" he switched over to another email message with the subject line of, 'Four: Research,' and he had just clicked on it when a loud howl broke through the walls of the house.  
  
The wolves were instantly on alert and were rushing up the stairs, everyone else following quickly behind. Peter kind of begrudgingly trudged up the stairs like a pre-teen and slowly walked outside where everyone else was, the video playing as he ascended.  
  
"It's the rogue, right?" Issac asked.  
  
"Definitely," Derek confirmed, scenting the air, "he's close and he's covered in more blood."  
  
"Whoa, what rogue?" Allison asked, pulling her bow and quiver out of the trunk of her car.  
  
Boyd stepped into the conversation, "There's been a rogue killing off campers and hikers for a few days and it's been able to evade us until now."  
  
"But why now?" Erica asked, scanning the street, "Why pick now to suddenly announce his presence?"  
  
"It's probably found a specific target." Peter supplied, casually leaning against a car. He knew more than he was letting on, everyone could tell.  
  
"We can totally stop him," Scott assured, "I mean, he's outnumbered six to one."  
  
"Excuse you." Lydia interjected.  
  
Jackson stepped in, "Oh no, you are not getting involved in this. You are going to go back inside and stay safe until this is over."  
  
Lydia patted Jackson's cheek, "I don't think so, sweetheart." Lydia also reached in Allison's trunk where she pulled out an ordinary cardboard box. Opening it, it was revealed to be filled with packing peanuts and bubble wrapped objects. Lydia extracted one and unwrapped one out many old perfume bottles with Molotov cocktails swirling in them.  
  
Peter smirked, "Molotov cocktails. Such effective weapons on more than one occasion."  
  
Scott muttered, "As long as Jackson didn't help make them."  
  
Jackson, in turn, punched Scott's arm, "Shut up, McCall."  
  
"Shut up, both of you!" Derek snapped, neck craning. He attempted to pick out where exactly the howl had come from, but he need less noise than the teenagers constantly provided. After a moment, he caught on to the general area, "Alright, he's in the woods. Alone." Derek turned to his betas, "Boyd and Issac, you go left and Erica and I will go right. Jackson, you try to get behind it. Got it?"  
  
"Hey!" Scott exclaimed, "What about me?"  
  
Derek suppressed a grumble, "Go with Jackson."  
  
"And us?" Lydia gestured to Allison and herself with an annoyed expression.  
  
"You're going home." Derek informed them.  
  
Allison laughed, "Like hell we are! We're involved in this as much as you are."  
  
Derek's eyes hardened, "You're going home!" He used his commanding alpha tone, complete with red eyes. The echoes of his voice reverberated around them.  
  
Lydia let the last of the echoes die off, casually glancing around until they did, "Jackson," she said, "where is this beast?" she smiled sweetly at him.  
  
Jackson's eyes widened, "Uh. . . he-he's--"  
  
"Don't you dare!" Derek shouted, alpha-ed up.  
  
"A mile into the preserve." Scott explained, "He's north, northwest, not moving."  
  
Derek turned to Scott, outraged.  
  
Scott rolled his eyes, "Allison can take care of herself, and Lydia could rend someone just by looking at them."  
  
Lydia and Allison nodded in unison, pleased with his answer.  
  
"Lead and we'll follow." Allison informed Scott.  
  
Peter huffed a chuckle out. Derek immediately shot him a disdainful look, "Don't give me that. You know they would have followed anyway."  
  
Derek took a few deep breaths, promising himself to not rip off his uncle's head, "What about you? Are you coming?" He didn't think Peter would want to come, but he asked regardless.  
  
Peter casually slid his hands into his pockets, "Mmm can't. A new episode of Intervention is on tonight. Have fun getting maimed though!" He then turned and walked away.  
  
"I don't like him." Issac stated.  
  
Derek huffed, "Nobody likes him."  
  
While everyone else had been negotiating, Stiles was moments from doing something irrational. His veins were being pumped with adrenaline. The fight or flight response coursing through him, and he knew his decision.   
  
He flew over to his Jeep and jumped in, snagging the extra set of keys from under the back bumper, and drove for the forest. All before anyone noticed he had moved.  
  
The human set the dagger on his lap for easy access. He could hear everyone yelling at him to get back there when his tail lights reflected off their eyes, but he knew that howl. He knew it. It had been haunting his nightmares for days.  
  
As he drove, his teeth were gritted together and he promised, "This ends tonight."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact: I went to California with one pair of sunglasses and came home with seven total. I only bought two more and the other four were giveaways at campaign booths. I do not have a problem.
> 
> Next chapter predominately features one of my favorite tags: BAMF!Stiles. I am excite!


	16. Hysteria

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Human does not equal fragile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hysteria by Muse as my muse. HA! See what I did there?
> 
> By far, this is my most favorite action chapter in this story.

_Downstairs in Jackson's basement, the video still played, explaining to an audience that wasn't there about a friend that was more than some pathetic human._  
  
Glancing in his review mirror after a bit, he saw the wolves running right along with the Jeep, and Allison's car speeding along behind him. He drove well into the preserve, far enough away that neighbors wouldn't get suspicious, find out, or try to find the monster.  
  
 _Gerard turned the camera on from the side this time. He then moved from the left to back of the room, walking past Stiles' unconscious body and the twelve omegas standing blankly around._  
  
Stiles threw the Jeep in park and scrambled out, blade in hand. There were growls coming from his left, so that's where he turned. There was a set of yellow, gleaming, glaring eyes turned on him.  
  
 _The old man produced a battery operated humidifier from a box in the back of the room, which he walked to back to the front of the room._  
  
"Stiles!" Scott yelled, frantic, "Don't do anything!" They were all a little ways away, too far to do anything.  
  
 _Gerard produced a plastic bag of wolfsbane from his pocket and emptied the contents into the device. The wolfsbane was the last thing he needed before the humidifier could be turned on._  
  
The werewolf approached slowly, stalking toward Stiles. His fangs were extended fully and his claws were twitching, "You." The omega said just before he leaped for Stiles.  
  
 _Stiles body started to move, dragging his mind from the depths of sleep when Gerard started to wave the vapors toward the werewolves. The smell caused the werewolves to show their natures and their unstable mentalities._  
  
All the werewolves' voices rang out with, "No!" as they tried to reach Stiles in time.  
  
 _The teenager's head lifted off the floor of the warehouse, gathering his bearings. The wolves snapped their jaws at each other and swiped the air with their claws, getting riled up._  
  
They were not in time. The omega was on top of Stiles, snarling and snapping while Stiles threw the cover off the blade and held it against the werewolf's throat. He tried to slice deep into his neck, but the werewolf rolled off before he got the chance. Taking the a third of the front of Stiles' shirt with him.  
  
 _Gerard's words echoed off the basement walls, "There's a hierarchy in werewolf packs: alpha, beta, omega."_  
  
Derek intervened then. "Get out of the way, Stiles!" He pushed Stiles back, who fell into the dead leaves below, as the alpha's features shifted.  
  
 _"Only an alpha's bite can turn a human into a werewolf, and the bite can cure countless things."_  
  
The alpha lunged at the omega, tackling the wolf to the ground.  
  
 _"Asthma, epilepsy, excess weight, even cancer, but I'm sure you already knew all of this."_  
  
The omega, however, was at an advantage. He used his anger and threw Derek off of him and into the nearest tree. A resounding crack of the trunk could be heard by everyone there, and they all winced.  
  
 _Stiles eyes hardened, angry, "Then why tell me what I already know?" His voice causing his statement to lose most of its gusto._  
  
Boyd leaped in as Derek flew out. He got a swipe right across the omega's cheek, but the omega plunged his claws through Boyd's stomach.  
  
 _"Omegas can become betas, betas can become alphas, alphas can become omegas, and the opposites of those facts are also true." Gerard's form was twisting a small blade in his hands as he walked toward Stiles._  
  
Boyd spit up blood onto the ground, falling away. Issac and Scott leaped in at the same time.  
  
 _"Usually, the power of an alpha has to be either inherited or killed for," Stiles backed up with every step Gerard took toward him, "but what if there isn't an alpha already established?"_  
  
Scott attacked from the bottom, swiping along the omega's calves while Issac went from above to push the omega to the ground.  
  
 _"What if there is a group of omegas,  of lone wolves, that are gathered in one place? Would they eventually establish a pack dynamic or would they continue being pathetic omegas?"_  
  
He did fall to the ground like Issac had hoped, but he threw Issac off. Issac went somersaulting into the trees.  
  
 _"What if they were pushed into fighting for power? Would an alpha be established then?" Stiles had hit one of the chain-link walls of the cage and Gerard was half a foot from him._  
  
Scott scrambled below the omega. He used his claws to cut deep into his rips.  
  
 _"All those silly questions aside," he took the last step toward Stiles and held up the blade next to Stiles' neck._  
  
Blood poured from the wound, but the omega was smiling.  
  
 _"How strong is a wolf's blood lust that he would start to kill all around him in order to get to it?"_  
  
The omega snatched Scott's arm and bit down as hard as he could.  
  
 _Stiles could be seen swallowing dryly, making his voice even more scratchy, "Do werewolves even have blood lust? Isn't that vampires?"_  
  
Stiles could hear a snap as Scott's arm was broken by the omega's jaw. He let out an audible gasp at how painful it sounded.  
  
 _Gerard laughed darkly, "Of course werewolves have blood lust, and the closer it is to the full moon, the stronger it is."_  
  
The omega heard him and immediately turned to his voice.  
  
 _He pulled the knife down to Stiles' chest and pressed through the cotton of his t-shirt in a five inch sweep._  
  
"You!" he repeated, bringing himself to his feet.  
  
 _"The fresher the blood, the better it is."_  
  
Stiles pushed himself back among the leaves, fear overtaking his system.  
  
 _The omegas behind Gerard started snapping ferociously, stalking foreword. Stiles pressed himself into the cage wall._  
  
He stalked foreword to Stiles, hands twitching in anticipation.  
  
 _The blade cut into his stomach, just below his ribs, "I think an alpha can be made through a tournament, of sorts, and that alpha can have the power to give a human the bite."_  
  
He was a mere five feet from Stiles when a whistling sound came above Stiles' head.  
  
 _"A human that was so cruelly tricked by his granddaughter's boyfriend."_  
  
An arrow embedded itself into the omega's chest, and the omega growled at it. He then lifted his head to see Allison with another arrow nocked.  
  
 _"After all, all he wanted was for himself to live to see the world rid of the menace of werewolves." Gerard slipped the blade along Stiles' sides a few more times, drawing more blood._  
  
Allison didn't wait for the omega to charge. Instead she fired another arrow into his chest, right where his shoulder met his chest.  
  
 _"Shall we see if I'm right?"_  
  
Jackson then charged from behind Allison. He had ridden in Allison's car if the open passenger doors were anything to go by.  
  
 _Stiles saw the omegas stalled right behind Gerard, trying to push past an invisible barrier. His palms were sweating, desperately clutching the chain-link, and his legs were trembling a little._  
  
Jackson and the omega dodged each others attacks. When one would send a potentially grueling blow, the other would swipe it out of the way. It was frustrating for both of them.  
  
 _An omega snarled by Gerard's ear, and Stiles gave a confused look, "You're not the only one that knows how to use mountain ash."_  
  
The omega then used one hand to reach into his pocket and pulled out a small, plastic bag filled with purple powder.  
  
 _Gerard gave one last arc of the blade across Stiles' skin, the longest one yet. It extended from the middle of his back to his hip bone, and suddenly, Gerard was gone. In his place came the omegas._  
  
It was Lydia's voice that rang out the loudest, "Wolfsbane!" She screeched, warning everyone, but she was too late.  
  
 _The first one to Stiles immediately bit into his side, Stiles howled. Another omega knocked the first biter off and they started to battle for who got to eat Stiles._  
  
The powder took Jackson by surprise, and he stumbled backward, allowing Boyd and Issac to charge again.  
  
 _While two were fighting, ten other omegas bit all around Stiles' body, any part they could reach, and when one realized that another was trying to infringe on his territory, a fight ensued._  
  
Boyd's hands were caught in the left hand of the omega's, Issac's the right. They struggled maddeningly, but to no avail.  
  
 _Every few seconds, an omega would get close enough to bite at Stiles again. Stiles tried his best to move away from the main focus point of the fights in the cage to a better place, but they always followed._  
  
The omega's lips curled back in a menacing smile as he smashed two baggies over the wolves' heads. The pair of them immediately stopped struggling and tried to shake the deadly stuff off, but the shaking only caused it to enter their airways faster. They were down and out for the count.  
  
 _After about five minutes of watching hunters-turned-omega werewolves maul each other, three of them lay dead in their own blood._  
  
With his shoulders drawn up to his ears, the omega stalked to his next victim.  
  
 _Their claws raked across Stiles' clothes, shredding them, but not enough for him to be naked again. They would get offended by the others and start battling, but the would always come back._  
  
Derek locked eyes with the beast, "Come on!" he snarled.  
  
 _They always came back._  
  
While the omega was distracted with advancing on Derek, he stuck his hands into his pockets and withdrew a few more wolfsbane pouches. That was when Erica made her move.  
  
 _Stiles was backing away from two omegas that were pushing each other when he fell over backwards on a box._  
  
Erica slid in and swiped her claws down his legs, causing the last of the wolfsbane pouches to go flying; however, it also caused Erica to make one explode on her face, taking her out.  
  
 _Inside the box were things like iron lug wrenches, crowbars, strips of metal, PVC pipe, and an assortment of screwdrivers._  
  
Derek was also distracted by his beta's brave, self-sacrificing move, and it caused him to get a load of wolfsbane straight to the face for the second time in his life.  
  
 _He didn't hesitate to grab a few of the items and hold them in his defense._  
  
While the omega had left the wolves he took out alone, Allison and Lydia had been dragging them to a safer area. They were dragging Derek when the omega noticed them.  
  
 _An omega lunged at him and he smashed the lug wrench right against his skull, it sent the omega sprawling._  
  
The omega roared at them, causing Lydia to drop Derek's arm. Thankfully, Scott pounced onto him.  
  
 _The other omega also lunged, moments after the first, and had latched onto Stiles' shoulder. Stiles thrust a screwdriver in between the omega's ribs and jerked it in all directions. He went still and then slumped onto Stiles, dead._  
  
Scott let out a flurry of punches, "You. Raped. My. Best. Friend. You. Mother. Fucker." Each word was punctuated by a punch to the jaw, breaking it every time.  
  
 _Stiles looked directly at the camera and scowled at its existence._  
  
The last werewolf was doing pretty well until Stiles made an involuntary groan standing up and Scott got distracted.  
  
 _Anger swelled up within Stiles' eyes, and he pushed the dead werewolf off of him. He slipped a few more screwdrivers and some metal strips into his pockets of his pajamas and took hold of a crowbar, eyes steeled over._  
  
The wolfsbane coated Scott's face and he fell into Lydia's and Allison's arms.  
  
 _Seven omegas were still going at it around him, still trying to turn Stiles into a chew toy._  
  
"Come on, Scott!" Allison encouraged, "Stay with us, were almost to the others!"  
  
 _He brought the crowbar down onto the back of the first one he saw._  
  
"No use," Derek grunted, "wolfs bane has left us helpless." He heaved in a breath, guilt written all over his face for someone he couldn't save, yet again, "Stiles is going to die."  
  
 _The struck wolf stumbled, but was still able to move and Stiles used the prying end of the crowbar to wedge it under his jaw. Stiles then used his entire body weight and tore the werewolf's jaw roughly off._  
  
"Stiles!" Scott let out weakly as he slumped against Issac. He was the last wolf set down by the girls, so he could see that the omega was charging right behind his best friend. Stiles spun and managed to fling himself out of the way just in time.  
  
 _Blood splattered everywhere on Stiles, but he was too busy using one of the metal strips to slit deeply into the other werewolf's throat to notice._  
  
He had picked up a substantial looking branch and tried to implement what Chris Argent had taught him. He was doing alright, considering he wasn't dead yet, but life had a way of reminding him that he was up against a werewolf. The omega caught the end of the branch and flung it.  
  
 _Three werewolves were beating at each other at once, a little too occupied to notice Stiles coming. They didn't fully realize he was there until Stiles had bashed the lug wrench and crowbar into one of their legs, sending the omega to his knees. Stiles then drove a Phillips head screwdriver through his forehead._  
  
The branch arched across the air, completely out of Stiles' reach. He thought for sure he was doomed.  
  
 _The body stilled a heartbeat after the tool was inserted and it fell over, blood draining out onto the floor. Stiles dropped the crowbar and lug wrench and threw a metal strip like a Frisbee at the head of one of the other wolves._  
  
He just needed something. Something that could stop a werewolf. . . Something that had stopped all the werewolves he knew.  
  
 _The metal lodged into the  werewolf's head right between the eyes. The werewolf jerked back, stilled and then fell back on to the floor, dead._  
  
Of course! When Erica had ripped open his pants, the wolfsbane had gone flying out! The only thing was, where had it gone? As Stiles moved around a tree to avoid being gouged, he spotted it about thirty yards away.  
  
 _The werewolf that was the most recent kill that he had been fighting curled his lips at Stiles. He then closed the space between them, claws extended, but Stiles was poised with another metal strip, using it as a sword. He slashed at the wolf in every direction it came and the wolf dodged the swipes._  
  
If he could just get to it in time, he had a chance. Stiles sprinted to the last bag of wolfsbane and dove to get it. He would have gotten it if it hadn't been for the omega catching the collar of Stiles' shirt.  
  
 _Stiles was just trying to keep it at bay a little longer before making his move, but the wolf was having none of that. He latched his teeth onto Stiles' collarbone as Stiles drove the metal through the werewolf's stomach, where it could clearly be seen on the other side. Dead, Stiles threw the body onto the ground and advanced to the final two._  
  
The omega clawed the remainder of his shirt off, causing him to bleed from new and old wounds, as Stiles' hand closed around the baggie of purple dust. He tore open the top and spun behind him, letting the wolfsbane out.  
  
 _As he was walking, he swayed._  
  
The wolfsbane dust flew straight into the airways of the omega.  
  
 _While Stiles steadied himself, the last two had ceased their fighting and were growling at him, one falling behind the other as they came closer._  
  
He was panting, finally getting the omega onto the floor of the forest.  
  
 _Stiles stumbled back and nearly tripped on the abandoned crowbar and lug wrench. Snatching the crowbar back up, the three of them circled each other._  
  
He sat on the immobilized omega's chest. Stiles coated the dagger in wolfsbane and began sawing into his neck.  
  
 _The werewolves snarled at him, eyes flashing, and Stiles growled back, more animistic than human._  
  
Stiles heard the omega gurgle, attempting to say something with his last moments, but Stiles had hacked through the bones, muscle, fat, and skin before any sense could be made of it. Blood poured everywhere onto Stiles hands, arms, and chest before the rest of the body dropped to the forest floor.  
  
 _The one closer to Stiles must have took that as a threat and he sprung. Stiles was ready though, as the werewolf came toward him in the air, Stiles batted the crowbar up into his neck, causing the omega to fall to the ground, not dead though._  
  
Stiles examined the head of the monster that had been haunting him, and he tossed it up in the air.  
  
 _The last omega charged for Stiles, and Stiles dropped the crowbar and used the last of his pocketed screwdrivers to shove them into the werewolves eye sockets, pull them out, and plunge them into his chest. The werewolf was dead soon after._  
  
The head hadn't dropped to the ground before Stiles was moving to Allison's car.  
  
 _Breathing hard, Stiles retrieved the crowbar for the final time and continuously, ruthlessly brought it down onto the body of the werewolf he had just swung at. Even long after the werewolf was dead, Stiles kept beating him._  
  
Everyone watched him as he opened Allison's trunk and took Lydia's box into his arms.  
  
 _After a while, he threw the crowbar onto the dead werewolf's body. He then slowly walked to the box and retrieved another metal strip._  
  
The car trunk clicked shut as he trudged back to the body with the box in hand.  
  
 _Stiles then went to every single werewolf and cut of their penis._  
  
Stiles set the box down on the ground.  
  
 _Stiles ran his fingers along the fence, searching for a way out besides the door, which was chained and locked on the outside._  
  
Reaching into the box, he methodically unwrapped all the perfume bottles as carefully as possible so he wouldn't waste them.  
  
 _Shuffling around the eight sides, he found a just big enough hole for him to fit under. Holding his breath, he wriggled out of the torture cage and set out to find the exit. In his haste to get away, he completely forgot about the camera._  
  
Stiles furiously smashed the last Lydia's Molotov cocktails onto the corpse.  
  
 _The video kept rolling, showing the horror of the cage for a minute or two more. Just when nothing seemed like it would happen, an omega struggled to get himself up. It was the first omega._  
  
The headless body sizzled and popped in the fire. All hair from the body fully incinerated by that point.  
  
 _There was a slam of a heavy metal door, opposite of the way Stiles exited, and Gerard's voice cut through the silence._  
  
The smoke rose off the body in powerful clouds, releasing their retched smell into the air.  
  
 _"What a mess this is," he tutted, moving into view. The omega hobbled toward Gerard, who was behind the safety of the fence, and growled._  
  
He threw the head in last, hearing it thud against the forest floor.  
  
 _Gerard didn't even blink, "Hush! You're interrupting my thinking." The omega turned silent._  
  
"Stiles?" Lydia asked, cautiously.  
  
 _A slow, sick smile spread across the hunter's face while he walked to the camera._  
  
Stiles watched the mutilated body burn in the flames.  
  
 _Gerard moved off camera, but his voice was heard loud and clear, "We will have much more fun than this in due time. All in due time." Then, the video ended._  
  
His eyes reflected the dancing flames before him.  
  
 _The projector showed a relatively blank email as if nothing had happened moments before on its screen._  
  
He was calm.  
  
 _As if an old man had not kidnapped Stiles._  
  
He was finally at peace.  
  
 _As if an old man forced Stiles into a flight or fight situation._  
  
Stiles finally turned away from the fire and faced the rag-tag group behind him. All of the scars on his upper body were exposed to them.  
  
 _As if Stiles had not brutally destroyed eleven peoples' lives._  
  
"Fuck you, Derek." Stiles bellowed, throwing the dagger into the closest tree to Derek. The blade stuck fast and wobbled in the periphery of the alpha's vision.  
  
 _As if Stiles was nothing more than a weak, pathetic, fragile human._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> He speaks! With Derek present! Whaaa?
> 
> Also, you know what, you sassy motherfucker, you are awesome, and I hope each and every one of you fuckers has a great fucking day. Fuck yeah!


	17. This Is War

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not Stiles, anyone but Stiles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This Is War by 30 Seconds To Mars. If you have not seen any of the fan videos to this song for Teen Wolf, I highly recommend checking them out.
> 
> GUYS, I WARNED YOU! I warned you to pay attention to the tags, there was one tag left that hadn't been shown, and now it is.

"Stiles. . ." Lydia cautioned again, trying to understand the change in his eyes, the murderous intent brimming over them.  
  
Allison swallowed, "Looks like you've been putting my dad's lessons to good use," she tried to smile, but she was terrified, "I'm-I'm glad."  
  
Stiles opened his mouth to say something, but a roar broke out to the left of Stiles, deeper in the forest. Stiles was instantly running to the dagger embedded in the tree, "Why the fuck did I throw that?" He muttered to himself. After some yanking and pulling, he got it out and held it at the ready as a large cougar ran into their vicinity.  
  
"Allison!" Stiles yelled in warning.  
  
"On it!" Allison scrambled after her bow, nocking an arrow immediately.  
  
Stiles, tired of running, tired of being known as the fragile human, charged directly at the mountain lion with a roar of his own.  
  
Behind him, where all of his incapacitated werewolves were, there were grunts of protest for him to not go. Scott found something inside himself to yell, "No!"  
  
But he was too late, Stiles had come face to face with the big cat and was getting deep scratches directly over his mostly healed ones. The mountain lion even bit where the omegas had, causing the wounds to reopen and spill blood.  
  
Allison fired arrows as fast as she could nock them, but the cougar was still scratching up Stiles. He was using the dagger to stab in any vulnerable place he could find, which was good, but it wasn't fast enough. They rolled in the leaves and needles on the forest floor, blood spilling everywhere and dirt getting in every wound.  
  
The mountain lion had dug their claws in nearly every old wound Stiles had by the time that he had pushed the dagger in his chest and pulled upward, gutting him. There was a moment, just before the cougar's eyes dimmed, where Stiles saw thought he saw the cougar look thankful as Stiles killed him.  
  
He collapsed on top of Stiles, his last breath pushing out of him, and he closed his eyes. Stiles turned his head and in the distance he saw flashing lights cutting through the trees.  
  
Allison ran over to him, Lydia right behind her, and they pushed the mountain lion off him, "Stiles, oh my God, Stiles, are you okay?"  
  
"Doesn't matter, you need to--"  
  
"Doesn't matter?! Like hell it doesn't matter! Stiles, you could bleed out if you don't--"  
  
"Lydia! Shut the fuck up for five fucking seconds, oh my God!" Stiles bellowed, "Now, you see those down there," he pointed to the lights, "those are the lights of police cars and you need to get the werewolves into my Jeep and Allison's car," he pointed in their directions, "and get the hell out of Dodge if you know what's good for you, got it?"  
  
Lydia nodded, "What about you?"  
  
He smiled sadly, "Someone has gotta take the blame for this," he gestured around them, complete with a burning corpse and a dead mountain lion. "Now go!"  
  
Allison and Lydia quickly pulled Scott to his feet and dragged him into Stiles' car, then Issac, and Derek. Allison's car was piled with Erica, Boyd, and Jackson. Before they knew it, they were driving in a large arc around the incoming police cars and back to Jackson's house.  
  
Stiles was standing right where they had left him, looking around himself and seeing what a mess he had gotten himself into, again. He was sure to get his dad fired for good, he could feel it.  
  
He could also feel his heartbeat going wild. That wasn't right. Sure, he was scared of the huge punishment he'd get for the evidence around him, but that didn't explain the panicked pounding going through his chest.  
  
Searchlights swept a few yards ahead of him and then swept back up on his level. One passed right on him, went away, and then came back, focusing on him. He couldn't hear anything anymore, except his incessant beating heart, but he saw people running. Stiles recognized one person for sure and he smiled when he came into focus, "Dad. . ." Stiles said before his eyes rolled back in his head and he passed out.  
  
  
Back at Jackson's house, the girls found the hose and sprayed them all off as best they could. For Derek, they gave an extra spray, just for good measure, which he was none to happy about.  
  
Once they had washed the majority of the wolfsbane from their bodies, the werewolves got up and moving again.  
  
"We have to go back!" Erica insisted, "Stiles shouldn't take the full blame for this!"  
  
Scott was in complete agreement, "Yes, exactly!"  
  
"We can't," Derek firmly stated.  
  
An uproar started from everyone else.  
  
"Why the fuck not?" Boyd yelled.  
  
"If it wasn't for Stiles, we'd be dead by now!" Jackson threw in.  
  
Issac butted in as well, "He deserves at least our support!"  
  
"Is it because he's human?" Lydia challenged.  
  
"I swear," Allison explained, "if it's because he's human, I will put an arrow through your skull."  
  
Derek's teeth bared, "It's not because he's human!" Everyone quieted while he took a moment to regain his composure, "Did you see the way he looked killing that omega?" Derek didn't mean it in a bad way, he just wanted to make sure that everyone else saw it too.  
  
But Scott didn't understand that, "Did you see the way that omega raped him?" he snapped at Derek, "Bastard got what was coming to him."  
  
"And," Lydia added, "we can only assume that he was part of the reason Stiles had so many injuries."  
  
Allison nodded, "She's right, we didn't stay to watch the second video. We would have known so much beforehand if we had seen it earlier."  
  
Erica flicked water droplets off her fingers, "But we didn't and Stiles need our help now."  
  
"Uhh," Scott suddenly said, staring down at his phone, "no he doesn't." He looked up at all of them, "Stiles is in the hospital."  
  
  
Melissa McCall had texted her son as soon as she got a moment to say that his best friend was currently headed to the ICU, she left out the part where the sheriff was pacing in the lobby just outside the large windowed room that his son was staying in. "Sheriff," she came up to him, "I know you're worried, but the best thing for you to do right now is sit down. Walking a rut into the tiles won't take you anywhere."  
  
Mr. Stilinski smiled at that, "I know, it's just. . . you didn't see what was around him."  
  
Ms. McCall was intrigued, "What do you mean?"  
  
The sheriff sat down in a chair, hands holding his head up, "There was a. . . a mountain lion, you know the one that we think has been doing all those attacks, dead by being stabbed by a dagger that has my son's blood all over it. Not only that, but there was a burning something next to him."  
  
"It doesn't look good for Stiles." Ms. McCall stated, watching the doctors rush into the Stiles' room.  
  
"No it doesn't, he could be put up for murder charges and I could be fired."  
  
Melissa's eyes snapped to her friend, "I don't give a shit about your job right now, you got that? Because a boy that I have known ever since my son brought him home for a play date, a boy I unexpectedly started to raise of my own accord, is having heart failure. If the first thing on your mind is how this will reflect on you, then you need to go home and re-evaluate what's important, understand?"  
  
Mr. Stilinski's jaw snapped shut, and he managed to choke out, "He's dying?"  
  
Her eyes softened, "Yes, but we can make sure he doesn't as soon as we find out what happened, other than severe blood loss."  
  
"I just. . . I don't know what happened. I really don't. He just said he was going to a party at Jackson Whittemore's house tonight and that was it."  
  
"Could it have been something he ingested? He could have been drinking, taken drugs, or both and that can cause adverse reactions in the body. Especially with his ADHD."  
  
"No," the sheriff firmly stated, shaking his head, "Stiles would never drink or take drugs. He knows the rules, especially at parties where he is likely to get busted."  
  
"I know, but something had happened to Stiles and I don't think he felt like he could--"  
  
"Mom!" Scott yelled across the lobby, rushing to her with everyone else in tow.  
  
The sheriff was instantly on his feet and pushing Jackson against the nearest wall, a finger pointed in his face, "Did you give my son drugs?"  
  
"Wh-what? Sir, I would never do that!"  
  
"You better not be lying! I will not have my son die because some punk ass kid thought it would be funny to put the kid with ADHD on drugs."  
  
"I didn't give him anything!"  
  
"Sheriff!" Scott pulled on his arm, "It wasn't him! Jackson would never, ever give anyone drugs. You know him, they would ruin his Porsche seats." Scott smiled a little, hoping that some humor would get the sheriff to not threaten Jackson.  
  
It worked, sort of, "Alright, alright," the sheriff backed away, rubbing his face with his hands, "Is there anything you can tell me about what happened tonight that might have put Stiles in the hospital."  
  
Melissa was handed a folder, "He has a high concentration of alcohol and lysergic acid diethylamide in his system."  
  
"What's that?" Issac asked, "The long scientific thing, I mean."  
  
Erica supplied with, "LSD or commonly known as acid. Stiles took acid."  
  
"Why would my son take acid?"  
  
Everyone looked at each other uncomfortably, all knowing why, but not willing to tell.  
  
Boyd unexpectedly said, "Maybe he wanted to forget."  
  
Mr. Stilinski stilled, "Forget what, exactly?"  
  
Scott held his hands up, showing he wasn't threatening in anyway, "Mr. Stilinski, I know this is hard to hear, but Stiles was raped."  
  
"No, no he wasn't," the sheriff adamantly denied.  
  
Derek gave the next bit, "During your vacation."  
  
"He couldn't have! I was with him the whole time!"  
  
Lydia continued, "By twelve men."  
  
"No, no, no!"  
  
Allison finished, "And they were the first ones to put all the scars underneath the ones the mountain lion gave him."  
  
"No!" Mr. Stilinski screamed, "Not my son!" He went directly to the window where doctors were racing around Stiles with IV drips, papers, bottles, and anything else that they thought would help him. He watched they tried to get a breathing tube down his throat, and staunch the bleeding on many of the wounds that still bled.  
  
Melissa came up next to him, "I know this isn't what you want to hear, but it's true. The best we can do for Stiles is. . ."  
  
"Mom," Scott suddenly said.  
  
She turned to look back at him and saw that everyone was looking at the ground shocked.  
  
Erica let out a sob and held tight to Boyd, who had his face buried in her hair, shoulders shaking.  
  
Issac fell to the ground on his knees, unable to say anything.  
  
Allison had a steeled over resolve on her face, but tears were streaming down her cheeks.  
  
Jackson wiped at his eyes and reached for Lydia, who had a hand covering her mouth. He grabbed her and held onto her as she nearly screamed into his chest.  
  
Derek was shaking his head, muttering, "No, no, no. Not Stiles. Not him." over and over again, hands braced on his head like it was too much to take.  
  
Melissa McCall turned back to the hospital room and saw the heart rate monitor showing a flatline that she knew had a low drone note coming from it. The doctors were trying to perform CPR, attempting to revive the teenager in front of them, but they ended up pulling the guards up on the bed and wheeling him out of the room.  
  
As the bed rolled out the door and down the hall, the sheriff saw that his son was not breathing and tried to rush to him. "Stiles!"  
  
Melissa took one side of the sheriff's body while her son took the other and they held him back while Stiles disappeared down the hall.  
  
"No! Not my son!" the sheriff sobbed, still struggling to get to him, "Stiles! Please wake up! Please! I can't-- I can't lose you too! Stiles!" Mr. Stilinski begged, collapsing to the ground, bringing the McCalls down with him.  
  
Scott tried to stay strong for everyone, but he just couldn't, not that time, "I'm sorry. God, I'm so sorry. I wish things were different, I'm sorry." Scott sobbed, letting go and curling into himself.  
  
Melissa held onto her friend as she too let loose some tears, "I know, I know. . . I'm sorry."  
  
The big, bad sheriff, Stiles hero, was on the ground, pounding at it to bring his son back, to take him instead of Stiles. His shattered voice could be heard throughout many halls of the hospital, "Stiles, please wake up!"  
  
  
Down the halls of the hospital, Stiles body was still as the doctors tried everything they could think of to bring life back into the teenager, but as the seconds ticked by, they grew uncertain.  
  
Underneath the eyelids of the sarcastic, honey eyed boy, Stiles found himself in a blindingly bright room. He blinked getting used to the whiteness, and sat up. As he was sitting up, he noticed someone, a girl, walking around casually. She turned to him and her honey eyes lit up, "Oh good! You're awake." She walked over to him and helped him up, "I'm Stiles, the girl, and you must be Stiles, the boy."  
  
"What?"

"And we must be dead." She said.

"Again I say, what?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That was heartbreaking, I kept crying while writing it.
> 
> Fear not, my young'uns! This story is not over!


	18. The Devil's Tears

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Parallel universe twins are totes adorbs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Devil's Tears by Angus & Julia Stone
> 
> I think it would be supes totes awesomes to meet my parallel universe self! Like, do they like Iron Man as much as I do, can they make flower crowns like me, what are their feelings on Nutella? I NEED TO KNOW BECAUSE OF REASONS AND SCIENCE!

Stiles stared at Stiles in a staring contest starring Stiles. "God, my brain hurts," male Stiles muttered, rubbing at his temples.  
  
Females Stiles sat down in front of him, "Why?"  
  
"You're kidding, right?"  
  
Girl Stiles rolled her eyes and smiled, "Humor me."  
  
Boy Stiles huffed a little in laughter, "Alright then. You get that this is completely crazy, right? I mean, you say we're dead and we've suddenly collided into the opposite sex of ourselves! Like, how the fuck does that work?"  
  
"Crazy like parallel universes?" she asked, an eyebrow raised.  
  
"Oh ha-ha, you're so fucking funny."  
  
"I know," she flipped her long hair over her shoulder, "as for our sudden collision, beats me, I just know that we're the same person, just different body parts." She leaned back on her hands, "And I'm pretty positive that we're breaking some sort of time and space rule right now."  
  
"Tell me about it!"  
  
They were silent for a moment, taking in the bland brightness of the room and the companion across from them.  
  
Boy Stiles then asked, "So, how did you end up here?"  
  
"Well, it's pretty complicated and kind of a long story."  
  
He held up is arms, gesturing around the room, "I've got all the time in the world."  
  
She laughed, "Yeah, it seems we do." She scratched her nails against the ground a few times, "I guess it started when Scott was bitten by a werewolf--."  
  
"Scott's a werewolf in your world too?"  
  
"Yeah!" An idea formed in girl Stiles' mind, "Hey, does that mean that you were found by Derek Hale in the woods looking for Scott's inhaler?"  
  
"Yup! And Scott immediately became head over heels with Allison, who turned out to have a hunter family that wanted him dead?"  
  
"And we almost had to cut Derek's arm off?" She shuddered just thinking about it.  
  
"But we didn't and we found out that Peter was the alpha and he offered us the bite."  
  
She was smiling, "Then Jackson was bitten, but became a kanima instead."  
  
"Then Issac, Erica, and Boyd were bitten," he was smiling too, "and Jackson was saved by the power of love."  
  
Her smile turned sad, "I guess that means that practically everything we've been through has been the same."  
  
Getting what she meant, Stiles sobered up too, "I guess so."  
  
"I had to get Lydia to bring me a Plan B pill after I got back," she said, then quickly added, "I wouldn't have gotten pregnant anyway! I'm on birth control and I got my period, literally, the day after that."  
  
He grimaced, "I'm sorry, that must have sucked."  
  
"It's fine, Lydia and I took care of it, thankfully."  
  
"That's good," he nodded, looking away with a conflicted look on his face, "Did you-- are you--," he grumbled, unhappy with how he couldn't finish his sentences.  
  
"Did I get close to Derek? Am I in love with him?"  
  
He sighed, "Yes, that."  
  
"I would think you know the answers to those, after all, we are each other."  
  
"Well, you never know! You and I could be totally at odds when it comes to Derek." He insisted.  
  
"Yeah, I don't think so."  
  
"Alright then." He stated, smiling a little.  
  
She turned to him abruptly, "On a scale of one to our OTP becoming canon, how awesome was it when you gave Derek the big 'fuck you'?"  
  
He let out a bark of laughter, "I'd say a solid making a royal guard laugh."  
  
She also laughed, pulling her knees up to her chest and resting her cheek on them, "Yeah, it was."  
  
"We have to go back."  
  
It wasn't a question, but she answered anyway, "Yeah."  
  
He sighed, "Is it bad that I kind of don't to?"  
  
She shook her head, "No, I don't really want to either. I mean, there has been so much shit going on for the past six months that I don't know if it's really worth it to go back."  
  
"Scott would miss us, Dad too, Melissa, Erica and maybe Boyd. Tough call on everyone else though."  
  
"Allison would miss us, we're bros, remember?" She prompted.  
  
"That's true," he sighed, "How do we even get back?"  
  
"The same way we got here?" she guessed.  
  
"We have to die?"  
  
"Considering that there is literally nothing in this room besides us, I'd say no, but I do think we do have to be unconscious to go back."  
  
"I don't know if I can fall asleep with someone next to me."  
  
"Hey!" she squawked indigently, "I am not just someone! I am you from another dimension, you insufferable twat!"  
  
"Bitch."  
  
"Jerk."  
  
They mock glared at each other for a moment, then she smiled, "Well, it was really cool to meet my other dimension self. We should meet up again, you know, except with the dying part."  
  
"Yeah, if we could go to each others dimension, think of how people would flip! It's be great havoc to have!"  
  
"Another time, perhaps." She shuffled over on her knees and brought her male self into a hug.  
  
"We're gonna be fine."  
  
"Yeah."  
  
"We'll ask him, and everything will go back to how it was, I promise."  
  
"Okay." She squeezed him tight once more before letting go. The two of them arranged themselves so they were lying next to each other, facing opposite ways, and holding onto each others left hand.  
  
"Bye Stiles," she said, closing her eyes.  
  
"Bye Stiles," he said, squeezing her hand.  
  
  
Stiles took a huge inhalation of air around the breathing tube in his mouth, his ears picking up his father yelling, "Stiles, please wake up!" but his eyes were still firmly shut, an out of body experience of sorts.  
  
One of the nurses noticed he was awake, "He's conscious and breathing on his own."  
  
"I've got the breathing tube," another one said as he pulled out the vile contraption from his throat.  
  
"We've still got to get his wounds cleaned, now." He was wheeled into a room where there were a lot of nurses and doctors barking orders as they put him on an anesthetic and prepared all the thread and needles needed to heal him back up. After a few minutes, the drugs did their work, and he was out.  
  
  
Melissa McCall had been summoned to tend to other patients, and had to reluctantly leave her son's friends in the waiting room, well, most of them. Derek had bolted as soon as Stiles' father fell to the ground.  
  
He couldn't do it, not again. He wasn't going to be a bystander while Stiles died. So he ran anywhere he could let himself forget.  
  
If he had stayed he would have known that Stiles was, in fact, alive and breathing and was being repaired as Scott impatiently bounced his knee to keep himself from exploding.  
  
Mr. Stilinski nudged him, "Hey, go home," he checked his watch, "It's nearly five in the morning, and he'll still be here when you come back."  
  
"Promise?" Scott asked, wide eyed.  
  
"Cross my heart, kid, now go home and take everyone else with you," he gestured around the room where everyone else was sprawled out on the furniture. All the wolves had their heads cocked to listen to Stiles' heartbeat.  
  
Scott nodded, "Come on, guys," he gently ordered, "let's go so actual patients can get care."  
  
There was a chorus of protests and grumbles as they disentangled themselves from the chairs, but they were all out of the hospital shortly. They silently walked to the parking lot, minds heavy with what they knew they had to do.  
  
Without consulting each other, they all headed back to Jackson's house in the approaching dawn.  
  
It was Erica that first spoke, "Should we call Derek?"  
  
"He does have a right to know, just like we do." Boyd reminded them.  
  
Allison added, "And Stiles and him have gotten really close within the last few days."  
  
Scott nodded, "Yeah, he's got a crush on him."  
  
"So," Issac said, pulling out his phone, "I'll call him." He dialed Derek's number, but got the voice mail after numerous ringing, "Hey Derek, it's Issac, and we're all at Jackson's house to watch the second video, so call me when you get this." Issac sent the voice mail and gestured for Jackson to lead the way to the basement.  
  
Anxiety rolled in everyone's stomachs as they all sat down and Jackson pressed play.  
  
  
It was almost eight in the morning and the sheriff was on his third cup of coffee, desperately wanting something a little stronger, preferably with a more gold color. He was frowning at the cup when his cell phone buzzed in his pocket.  
  
"Sheriff Stilinski, how can I help you?"  
  
"Ooh! Sheriff! That sounds so formal!" Leslie's voice filtered through the phone.  
  
He laughed, "Didn't you know that's my first name?" He listened to her laugh, "What's up?"  
  
"Well, as to not beat around the bush, we're all heading up to Washington for a week for vacation and were thinking of stopping by for a day or two."  
  
He sighed, "You know I would love it if you guys could, but now's not really the best time. Stiles is in the hospital and I don't know if he'll have the energy to entertain four kids."  
  
"Oh no! What happened to him? He's not sick is he?" The fear was nearly palpable from her.  
  
Quickly reassuring her, he said, "No, no, nothing like that, but he does have quite a few injuries that were stitched up earlier this morning from a mountain lion attack." He nearly couldn't say the words, thinking of what Scott and his friends had told him.  
  
Melissa McCall came down the winding hallways, looking for someone, and once she saw the sheriff, she immediately went to him, "Hey."  
  
"Leslie, hang on a moment," he pulled the phone to his shoulder, "How is he?"  
  
She smiled, "He's good, better than good, actually. He's awake right now and asking for some, as he put it, 'damn curly fries, but don't give any to my dad.'"  
  
"Can I see him?"  
  
"Yeah, sure, just follow me." They walked down the hallways and to the elevator where they went to the sixth floor.  
  
Stiles was in a single room, picking at the IV line as they walked in. He looked up and said, "My dad is not curly fries, I would know, otherwise I would have Hannibaled him ages ago."  
  
Melissa rolled her eyes, "He's obviously going to be fine," she smiled and closed the door behind the sheriff.  
  
Remembering that he was on the phone, he pulled it back up to his ear, "Hey Leslie, you still there?"  
  
"Yeah, still here, I'm assuming you got good news about Stiles?"  
  
"Yeah, he's sitting here in front of me."  
  
"Could I talk to him?" She asked.  
  
The sheriff handed over the phone to his son, "Hey Aunt Leslie, how goes it?"  
  
"Oh, same old, same old. We're actually going to be passing through town today and we wanted to stop by for a day or two, but it seems like you're in the hospital."  
  
"Yeah, it's been a series of unfortunate events, if you catch my drift, but that shouldn't stop you from coming by."  
  
"Stiles," his father warned, worried about his son exerting himself.  
  
"Really?" She asked, "Are you sure you're up to the kiddos?"  
  
"Bring 'em on! We'll see how many cousins we can fit in the bed! It'll be great!" Stiles exclaimed.  
  
"That's great!" Leslie said, she then spoke to someone on her end, "Yeah, they said it's fine, but we'll have to go to the hospital instead. Yeah. . . no he says it's fine. . . I'll check. Hey Stiles, could you give the phone back to your dad?"  
  
"Dad!" Stiles handed the phone back.  
  
"Hey Leslie."  
  
"Are you okay with us coming to visit?" She asked, serious.  
  
"Stiles says it's fine," he said rubbing his forehead, "so I guess it's fine with me. What time will you be here?"  
  
"River says in about an hour. Is that alright?"  
  
"Yeah, it's all fine. We'll see you then."  
  
"Bye Leslie!" Stiles shouted to the phone.  
  
She heard him and shouted back, "Bye Stiles!"  
  
Mr. Stilinski pulled the phone back from his ear, "Thank you, I will now be needing hearing aids."  
  
Leslie laughed, "We'll see you soon."  
  
They both hung up, and the sheriff pocketed the phone. He then stuffed his hands in his pockets, unsure of how to approach the situation at hand. Truthfully, he had never had to do this kind of thing with Stiles, retraining orders sure, but never anything of this caliber.  
  
"I would go out on walks during our vacation at night." Stiles said.  
  
"Huh?"  
  
"I was sitting outside by the motel when I was chloroformed and brought somewhere. When I came to, I was strung up and there were these guys all around me. First they hit me and beat me and scratched me, and then they. . ." Stiles swallowed thickly, fidgeting with the comforter in his hands, "Anyway, there were twelve of them, I remember that, but they had their faces covered. I passed out and woke up back outside the motel."  
  
Mr. Stilinski had sat down in the bedside chair, looking distraught, "Wh-Why didn't you tell me this?"  
  
"And ruin a perfectly good vacation?"  
  
"Fuck the vacation--"  
  
"Dad!"  
  
"I mean it, ever since you--" he sucked in a sharp breath, "Ever since you went missing after the lacrosse game, I just worry about what you don't tell me."  
  
"I didn't want you to worry, that was the whole point of me not telling you. I was going to keep it to myself because there's no point in trying to catch them if I can't tell what they looked like, and you're under enough stress because of me as it is, and I didn't want to add to it."  
  
The sheriff's eyes shot up, "Don't you ever say that again. Ever. You hear me? I am your father and I will stress and worry about you even if you're in a padded room inside a bubble. It's my job to worry about you, and to protect you."  
  
"I know," Stiles said.  
  
"No, I don't think you do. I spend more time thinking about how I can keep you safe than about my work, than I do sleeping, than I do breathing. Stiles, you're my son, my boy, and I need to keep you safe. I can't do that if you won't tell me what happens to you."  
  
Stiles blinked back some tears, looking up at the ceiling, "I wanted to protect you."  
  
"From what?"  
  
"From being ashamed? Disgusted?" Silently, he added on killed and hurt.  
  
"Of what? You?" When Stiles didn't answer, he got up and paced around the room, "There is no way in hell that I would ever be ashamed of you, annoyed yes, but never ashamed. Ever." He then stopped and wiped his wrist over his eyes, "What happened to you wasn't your fault, and don't you ever think that what happened to you makes you disgusting, because it doesn't. It makes those vermin disgusting and if I knew who they were I would--." He let out a frustrated sound.  
  
"Thanks," Stiles mumbled after some time passed.  
  
Mr. Stilinski looked at his son,  "Get some rest, Stiles. I'll wake you up when the family gets here." He watched as Stiles nodded and pulled the covers up over himself and almost immediately nod off. Walking over to his bed, the sheriff kissed his son's forehead and silently left the room to start on the paperwork.  
  
  
When Stiles' cousins visited two hours later, Stiles found out that he could fit all of the cousins, their parents, and his dad in the bed if they all awkwardly squeezed. He laughed as the adults tripped trying to get off the bed and he wished he had a picture to capture the moment.  
  
They stayed for a few hours, Maila, Bentley, and Josh fascinated by Stiles stitches, and Chelsea on the verge of throwing up after seeing them, but their parents decided to browse the town while Stiles recovered.  
  
The kids, and Stiles, made a symphony of protest when they said they were leaving, but it turned out that they were staying at the Stilinski household, so it didn't really matter.  
  
When they left, Stiles learned that he had to stay the night and he would be released tomorrow morning, depending on a few things he didn't really pay attention to. Shortly after that, the sheriff went back into the office and left Stiles alone.  
  
Truthfully, he had been planning on sleeping, but his friends had other plans. They whole lot of the came rolling in at four in the afternoon with entirely too much energy.  
  
"God, you all are so annoying." Stiles commented as Scott sat at the end of his bed.  
  
"Shut up, Stilinski," Jackson rolled his eyes, setting a vase of flowers and a card on his bedside cabinet. "Finstock signed it, by the way."  
  
"Oh yeah?" Stiles asked, intrigued, "What's it say?"  
  
Jackson picked up the card, "'Stilinski, I will punch your nuts out if you stay off the field too long. Get your ass back to practice, Finstock.'"  
  
"What a sweetheart!" Stiles exclaimed, clutching his chest in mock flattery. "So, what's up?"  
  
They all nervously glanced at each other, then Scott blurted out, "We watched the second video, and I think that was the most badass thing I've ever seen. Also, I would like you to bear my children."  
  
Stiles blinked, completely stoic, "I thought we already decided we were doing that?"  
  
"I want eight kids."  
  
"Eight?! I don't know, buddy, I've gotta keep my figure."  
  
"You guys are sickeningly adorable," Erica commented, "But seriously, damn Stiles. I didn't know you had that in you!"  
  
"It looked like you didn't need my dad's help in the first place," Allison smiled at him.  
  
"So. . . you guys are not revolted by what I did?"  
  
"Well--" Jackson started before being elbowed in the pectoral by Lydia, "No, it was pretty horrific with all the blood, but it was kind of awesome at the same time."  
  
Lydia smiled maliciously, "I personally would have burned them alive after cutting their penises off, but that's just me."  
  
Stiles laughed, "I thought about it, but didn't have anything to start a fire with."  
  
They all nodded in understanding. Issac the brought up the other thing on everyone's mind, "What did you tell your dad?"  
  
Sighing, Stiles stretched, accidentally kicking Scott, "A version of the truth, and that's all I'm giving him."  
  
They all accepted the answer and they chatted for a while. Boyd and Issac fought over the remote while the girls talked to Stiles in hushed tones under the television. They mostly gossiped.  
  
After a while, Ms. McCall came in to kick everyone out because visiting hours were over, and Stiles was supposed to rest. They left, saying their goodbyes, and Melissa checked Stiles over before closing his door.  
  
While the teenagers left, Derek had just finished listening to a voice mail on his phone. He slid the phone into his pocket and raised a hand to knock on an apartment door.  
  
"Derek," Peter greeted, "good to see you. Come in."  
  
Without further pretense, Derek asserted, "I need to see the second video. Show it to me."  
  
"A little please now and then wouldn't hurt, dear nephew."  
  
"Please."  
  
"Very good!" Peter smiled, and woke up his laptop.  
  
  
Around two in the morning, Stiles faded back to the real world and found a pair of red eyes in the corner of his room, "Jesusfuck, Derek! Waking me up! That's what you're supposed to do, not creep in the corner!"  
  
"Sorry." Derek apologized, moving to sit in the chair, obviously meaning to stay.  
  
"So you saw it too?" When he didn't answer, Stiles moved along, "Yeah, it really happened. Scott said it was the most badass thing he's ever seen and he wants me to bear his eight kids. Eight! I'd never keep my figure that way! Everyone else thought it was gory, which is to be expected, but also kinda awesome. Now, I don't expect you to think either of those, but if you think that it was--."  
  
And that was where Derek leaned up and pressed his lips to Stiles' softly. When Derek pulled away, Stiles chased after him for a moment.  
  
"I thought you looked strong and capable."  
  
"Thanks," Stiles could feel heat rising in his cheeks. "but why did you do that?"  
  
"I wanted to." Derek shrugged, moving to the door.  
  
"Derek?"  
  
Derek turned around, a closed off expression on his face.  
  
"When i get out tomorrow, and after my family is gone, I want to-to talk to you about some things."  
  
He nodded, "I'll stop by once you text me."  
  
"Thanks."  
  
Derek's lips pulled into a small smile, "Goodnight Stiles."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See? Everything is all good! Not dead! I REPEAT! STILES IS NOT DEAD! That wouldn't work with the ending I've got planned!
> 
> Oh, guess what happens next chapter! Just guess! It rhymes with vex! And it could be described with a word that rhymes with horn!
> 
> In other news, I have made two flower crowns and I need more. I have my life totally under control.


	19. Touch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It may not be what's really wanted, but it's what's needed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Touch by Daughter
> 
> Don't go to college. It's a trap. A trap that takes up all your time so you can't put out fic chapters on time because you'd rather put out nothing than put out a piece of shit.
> 
> Seriously, 90% of the reason that this wasn't done a month ago was because I wanted to do it right, and doing it right took time. Time I didn't have anymore because college is full of lies. The other 10% is because it's really awkward to write porn when my roommate is in the room.

Turned out that Stiles and Derek couldn't meet up like they planned because Stiles had to be questioned by the police and explain what was happening when they found him. They said that there a burning wolf's body next to him when he passed out and a mountain lion carcass a little ways away.  
  
His statement said that he had gone into the woods for a walk to clear his head, and the fire was there before he got there. The mountain lion came after him when he walked farther in the woods, to get away from the fire because he was afraid that the person that set it would be back. Stiles said that he took out the dagger he got as a gift in the mail-- "As a prank," he said --and defended himself. When they asked where he got the skills to do that, he said that he was taking self defense lessons with Mr. Argent. One newer cop asked him where he had gotten the older wounds, and the older cop, along with the sheriff shot him a look, already knowing how he got them. Stiles answered anyway and said that he was roughed up and raped on his vacation and, "If you have anymore invasive questions, kindly get the fuck out."  
  
While the sheriff suppressed a smile, the other two officers thanked him and left him alone. Once they were gone, Stiles and his father drove home in the cruiser, Stiles' Jeep was still at Jackson's house.  
  
Mr. Stilinski set the keys on the kitchen counter, "Stiles. . ."  
  
Stiles knew this was coming. That didn't stop him from hoping it wouldn't.  
  
"I just. . . I'm glad you're still here." he said, swallowing thickly around a smile.  
  
Stiles wrapped his arms around his father and held on tight, "Me too, dad. Me too." That was about the time that his cousins came back in the house from the backyard, dissolving any tender moment the Stilinski's had.  
  
In all the playing with his cousins, feeling himself be genuinely happy since before school ended, and forgetting all about lycanthropy, he completely blanked on talking to Derek.  
  
Derek didn't really mind either, he was trying to chase the trail of the alpha pack that barreled into town a couple months ago, anyway. Also, he wanted Stiles to have some peace and happiness before they talked.  
  
Two days after, Stiles' cousins left with many tears from the little ones, and Bentley begging to stay with Stiles because he had superhero movies. Eventually all four kids were loaded into the car after many hugs and kisses, and the taller companions hugged it out and promised to visit and call more often.  
  
Stiles and his dad had the night to themselves and decided they wanted to get wild. And by wild, they meant watching really bad, D-grade, movies until midnight when the sheriff fell asleep on the couch.  
  
Kicking his dad in the calf, he groaned, "Dad! Get up, you're on my arm!"  
  
"Chop it off. . ." the sheriff mumbled into the couch cushions. Mr. Stilinski rolled over and got slowly to his feet. "I'll see you 'n the mornin'." He then shuffled off to his room and Stiles to his.  
  
  
The next morning, technically the afternoon, Stiles got a text from Derek, "We still having that talk?"  
  
"Oh shit! Yeah, sorry! Family was in town, but I'm ready whenever you are." Stiles groaned and stretched on his bed, carefully assessing his wounds. Luckily none of them required stitches and the old stitches were taken out when the cougar chomped on him. Getting out of bed, he brushed his teeth, showered, and got dressed. By the time he returned to his phone, Derek had replied three times.  
  
"Where do you want to meet?"  
  
"Never mind, come to my place."  
  
"Here' s the directions: . . ." and a link to Google maps.  
  
"The illustrious loft," Stiles muttered, gathering everything he needed and headed to the door. His dad was eating a hamburger guiltily.  
  
"Hey there, Stiles, this-this isn't what it looks like."  
  
Stiles narrowed his eyes, "I'm letting you slide just this once if I can go out?"  
  
Nodding with a big bite in his mouth, the sheriff rummaged in his pocket and tossed Stiles a set of keys, "Jackson brought back your car early this morning."  
  
Catching the keys, Stiles said, "That was nice of--"  
  
"At five-thirty, Stiles."  
  
"I'll punch him next time I see him, promise." He was totally kidding, and the sheriff knew that, and his dad waved him goodbye.  
  
The sheriff shouted after his son, "It's going to rain soon, so be careful on the roads!"  
  
  
Derek's loft was in the next town over, a more metropolitan town, in, of course, an abandoned-like building. Stiles rode the elevator up, heart pounding, nerves on edge. As he stepped off, he saw the gaping hole in Derek's wall and the nerves eased a little.  
  
Rain pattered lightly on the huge window, the storm making the sky darker than it should have been at five at night. There was a table, a couch, a bed, and a spiral staircase, that Stiles guessed, didn't see much action. There was also a Derek sitting on the bottom stairs, watching him take in the place.  
  
"It's different," Stiles commented, "very werewolfy."  
  
"Werewolfy?"  
  
"Yeah, you know, the whole bat-cave feel of the place. Definite upgrade from the abandoned train car."  
  
"Thanks," Derek deadpanned, hoisting himself up from the stairs and slowly walking over to Stiles. "So, what do you need to talk about."  
  
Stiles smiled and set his phone, wallet, keys, and hoodie on the table by the window, "A few things actually, but we'll get to those when they come up in importance."  
  
"There's an importance scale, is there?" Derek crossed his arms, amused.  
  
Stiles smirked in return, and turned to face Derek fully. He took a moment to take Derek in as a whole. The way his hair swooped up in the front, the complex colors of his irises, his rabbit teeth, the perfect amount of stubble on his face, broad shoulders, strong arms hiding under the Henley, firm ass, strong legs, and big feet. He took it all in.  
  
Derek's expression flitted quickly to unsure then back to a stoic look before Stiles had looked back at Derek's face.  
  
"Have sex with me."  
  
Derek's face then took on a look of shock, then anger, "No." He turned away from Stiles and walked away.  
  
"Please Derek!" Stiles grabbed onto Derek's arm and turned him to face Stiles. "I wouldn't be asking if I didn't have a good reason! You know that!"  
  
Derek made a 'Well, I'm listening' gesture.  
  
Inhaling, Stiles explained himself, "I don't want to go through life knowing that the first time I had sex, I didn't want it. Or the time after that, or the time after that, or the next nine times after that! I just want one good experience so that I can hold onto it to cancel out the bad and know that at least one person knows how to treat a person right while penetrating them."  
  
Derek's face took on a pained look when Stiles said 'penetrating,' but he pushed past it, "Consensual sex should be with someone you love not someone you barely--"  
  
"No it shouldn't! I mean-- yeah that's a good thing, but it should also be with someone I trust, and I trust you." Stiles didn't allow Derek to rebuttal, "Listen to my heartbeat, I know you can hear it. I. Trust. You. Derek Hale. I do. I want it to be with you."  
  
"You're not old enough."  
  
"Do you think that stopped the twelve omegas from raping me?" Stiles knew what his words would do, he planned them all carefully.  
  
"Stiles," Derek sighed, "I can't get into a relationship with you."  
  
"I don't want a relationship, I just want this one night. Just this one, so when I am in a relationship, I won't start crying every time they touch me."  
  
Derek was silent, thinking it over.  
  
"I know you haven't had sex in a while, and I also know that being around a bunch of constantly horny teenagers does nothing to help. I want you to feel good too, and I know that I won't be all that great, but you will be. You know, because you've done this before!"  
  
"Not with a guy."  
  
Stiles suddenly looked up, "Does that matter to you? Oh god, what if it does? I am so sorry! I didn't mean to imply that you're gay!"  
  
"I kissed you, remember?" Derek smiled slightly.  
  
"Right!" He said, drawing out the word. Getting a determined look on his face, Stiles stepped toward Derek, hands held up in a non-threatening way, "Please Derek? Only you can do this. I want only you to do this. Please."  
  
Derek looked into Stiles' whiskey eyes, searching for assurance that that was what Stiles really wanted. When he found it, he sighed and gently cupped Stiles' face in his hands, and firmly pressed his lips against Stiles'.  
  
Stiles grasped onto Derek's shirt, letting Derek take direction of the kiss, and letting Derek hold Stiles fully against him. He deepened the kiss, tracing Stiles lips with his tongue, causing him to open his mouth.  
  
"Derek," Stiles sighed into his mouth, threading his hands into Derek's hair. Derek mapped Stiles' mouth with his tongue, trying to memorize every dip and valley of him.  
  
Derek's hands slid down his torso to the hem of his t-shirt. He was torn between going up or down with his hands, but he ultimately decided up because he would have plenty of time for down later.  
  
His hands lightly traced over Stiles' abdominal muscles, the wounds, bites, and his thumbs rubbed over Stiles' nipples. He groaned in response, slightly pulling away and saying, "More," and dove back in.  
  
Stiles pulled his hands from Derek's hair and started to yank Derek's shirt over his head in a rush. Derek pulled away and released himself from his shirt, also pulling Stiles' off as well. He then reattached himself to Stiles' lips, slowly, languidly kissing him as he backed Stiles up to the bed.  
  
Stiles easily fell down, bringing Derek with him, and he hastily unbuttoned his jeans, throwing them down his thighs. He kicked them off, hands busy with Derek's fly, while Derek softly peppered kisses down Stiles' throat. His teeth were clenched as he mumbled, "Come on, come on, come on." Stiles' hands were shaking, preventing him from getting a good grip on the small metal of Derek's zipper. It took him a moment to realize that Derek was saying his name.  
  
"Stiles, look at me. Stiles," Derek coaxed, eyes searching Stiles' face, "You don't have to--"  
  
"No! I want to-- need to do this!" Tears formed in the corners of his eyes, precariously perched on the edge of eyelids, awaiting their time.  
  
"I know, I know," Derek  moved his head down Stiles' eye level, "Stiles, look at me," when Stiles did, a hint of a smile appeared and vanished just as fast, "I was going to say that you don't have to do that, I can do it, and we don't have to go so quickly. We can go slow, make it last as long as you need it."  
  
Stiles choked around a sob, nodding, "Okay, just. . ."  
  
"I will," and Derek pressed his lips back to Stiles' neck. He eventually went back to Stiles' mouth, making sure that Stiles was practically shaking by the time he was done.  
  
Derek pulled away from Stiles and slowly shucked his pants, maintaining eye contact. He then hovered back over Stiles' body, not touching him, and asked, "Last chance Stiles, do you really want this?"  
  
Stiles brought his hand up to Derek's cheek, stroking the bones underneath, "Yes, I want this." He stayed quiet, letting Derek listen to his heartbeat to affirm his words. Once he waited the sufficient time, Stiles pushed himself up to kiss Derek, bringing him flush to his body.  
  
One of Derek's hands steadied himself by Stiles' head, while the other soothed down his body, lightly tracing over the scarring tissue unconsciously. Once he reached Stiles' boxers, he thumbed along the elastic band, asking for permission.  
  
Stiles pressed his hips up into Derek, "Yes," he whispered.  
  
Derek raised his hips from Stiles' body, giving himself room, and stuck his hand inside, wrapping around Stiles' semi-erect cock. Stiles shuddered beneath him, breathing Derek's name into his mouth.  
  
He closed his hand lightly around Stiles and gave a few languid strokes, bringing him to complete hardness and then some. Derek pulled off and out, not without protests from Stiles. So Derek lightly tugged on the dark hairs, sending a thrill down Stiles' spine, and pulled Stiles' boxers off of him. He threw them somewhere in the room.  
  
Getting up, Derek rummaged through the drawer in his bedside table. He pulled out a bottle of lube and a condom. Tossing them up by the pillow, Derek crawled back up Stiles' body, Stiles giving a shiver of anticipation at the action.  
  
Derek paused at Stiles' cock, and quickly engulfed it in his mouth without warning.  
  
Stiles' hands gripped the sheets as his legs jerked roughly, "Derek! Oh my God!" He could feel Derek's tongue swipe up the side, circle the head, dip in his slit, and then down the underside as he swallowed him down again. He did that a few more times, and then he reached the head and pulled off, darting his tongue out as he moved lower.  
  
When Derek's tongue traced over his balls, Stiles thought he was going to die of sensory overload. His lower back tightened as he arched into Derek's touch. Derek took his time, laving over each one in soft, slow strokes. He then decided to turn Stiles brain to fritters as he alternated, at random intervals, between Stiles' cock and his balls.  
  
"Derek. . . Derek, I'm going to come if you don't st-stop!" Stiles warned toes curling and body bowing.  
  
Derek pulled away just enough to speak, "Do you want me to stop?"  
  
"No! It's just. . . I don't want you to-to be disappointed that this is over so fast. I mean, you're really good at that, and I," he huffed, "I've never had this done to me before, and I don't want you it to be over before it st--," Stiles broke off in a moan as Derek swallowed him down again, bobbing while his hands rolled his balls.  
  
The only physical warning Derek got was Stiles' moans being completely cut off and Stiles came, coating Derek's lips. As Stiles descended from his orgasm, Derek licked what he could reach off his face and then wiped the rest off. He then went back down and laved over Stiles' cock one more time, very thoroughly, before Stiles got too sensitive.  
  
A moment of heavy breathing passed, "Do you want me to--?" Stiles asked, gesturing to Derek's tented boxers before his words were cut off.  
  
"No," Derek said, voice a bit raspy from his previous activities. When he realized that his word came out sharply, he amended it, "No, it's okay."  
  
Stiles nodded, dumbly as Derek shimmied out of his underwear and the sight of his very hard, very red cock made Stiles' mouth salivate. "Ar-are you sure? That looks uncomfortable."  
  
In answer, Derek reached over Stiles' head, snatching the lube up, and went back down to Stiles' cock. Stiles prepared himself to tell Derek that he needed more time to rest, but Derek by-passed it and gently spread his thighs.  
  
Very quickly, Stiles understood what was going to happen, "D-Derek?"  
  
Derek looked up, his face surprisingly open.  
  
"Just. . . just be gentle?"  
  
In answer, Derek pressed his lips down both of Stiles' thighs, fingertips ghosting over where his lips lingered. There was a flick of a cap, and Stiles felt a small pressure on his hole.  
  
He tensed up, almost without thinking about it, but he breathed enough to relax himself that Derek slowly, very slowly worked his middle finger in to the second knuckle. Stiles was gripping onto the sheets fiercely, trying to stay still, while Derek pushed all the way in with his finger. It was odd, but it wasn't too bad.  
  
Derek made sure that he didn't rush it, so he curled and swirled his finger inside Stiles, making sure could adequately take the next finger. As soon as he felt like Stiles was ready, Derek pulled out his finger, lubed two up, and slowly pushed back in. He made sure to stretch with every foreword movement to not hurt Stiles, but he could tell Stiles was uncomfortable.  
  
"Stiles?"  
  
"Mmm?" Stiles grimaced, face pinched as he tried to relax.  
  
"Would you be alright with me. . ."  Derek's free hand fluttered over Stiles' abdomen, eyes flicking up to meet Stiles' as he opened his eyes, "taking the pain away?"  
  
Stiles nodded, grateful for Derek asking before he did it.  
  
Derek pressed his free hand under the small of Stiles' back, arm looping over his hips, and drew little tendrils of pain out as he slid farther in with two fingers. It worked in letting Stiles enjoy it more.  
  
As Derek stretched out his fingertips, he pressed over Stiles' prostate. Stiles retaliated by letting out a pleased cry, "Derek, there!"  
  
Derek nodded and made a point of pressing against that spot every time he stretched Stiles more. In the meantime, he watched Stiles' face carefully, memorizing the micro-expressions Stiles let fall across his features.  
  
Slowly pulling out, once again, Derek  gathered more lube onto three of his fingers, "I'm adding another one. It might hurt for a moment before I can catch it, okay?"  
  
"Do it." Stiles stated, sweat starting to gather on his brow.  
  
Derek pressed inside, other hand drawing out the pain, continuing to stretch all the way in. Stiles winced for a fraction of a second before Derek drew it out, and before he knew it, Derek was rubbing purposefully over his prostate.  
  
Stiles moaned outright after the third or forth swipe, his cock beginning to stand tall again. Without even realizing it, Derek had bent close to it and was letting hot breath ghost over Stiles cock, causing Stiles to be even more aroused.  
  
"Derek, Derek, come on! I can take it!" Stiles insisted as Derek pulled out his fingers for the last time, lubed them all up and slowly inserted them all. "You don't--" he broke off in a hitched breath as he felt the fullness of the digits inside him, "d-don't have to keep stretch-stretching." He let out a few labored breaths, "I can take it."  
  
"No." Derek gruffed, continuing to stretch, rub, and fill Stiles for another minute or so, until Derek took his hand away. He sniffed for the acrid smell of pain to curl in his nostrils whenever he moved his fingers, but all he could smell was the sweet spice of arousal.  
  
If the smell hadn't been convincing enough, when Derek retracted all of his fingers, Stiles whining out a little as every one of them left, the sight of Stiles' cock standing tall once again was enough to cause a shudder run through him.  
  
"Derek. . ." Stiles mumbled, reaching above him for the condom, "Derek I'm ready." He dragged the foil down the sheets and pressed it into his fingertips.  
  
He knew, Derek knew that Stiles was ready, but he wanted to take in the image of Stiles at that moment. His pale legs were spread, hole practically begging to be filled, cock hard with pre-cum ready to drip down the side, chest heaving, cheeks flushed, and honey eyes sure. Derek surged foreword and pressed his lips to Stiles'.  
  
Stiles groaned and wrapped his arms around Derek's neck, accidentally bringing their cocks nudging at each other. While Stiles wanted to keep rubbing against Derek like that, Derek forced himself to pull away and take the condom from Stiles.  
  
Ripping the package open, he threw the wrapper on the floor, placed the condom to the head of his aching cock, and he chanced a glance at Stiles. Stiles had raised himself to his elbows and was intently watching Derek's hands, "Do you want to. . .?"  
  
Stiles nodded dumbly, and sat up to gently roll down the condom down over the hard length and then added lube all over it. Derek shuddered at Stiles' deft hands and fingers traced the vein on the underside of his cock once, twice, three times before laying back down.  
  
It took Derek a moment to regain his ability to think, but once he did, he stared down at Stiles with a primal hunger. "Hold the underside of your knees for me." His voice was absolutely wrecked, but Stiles bit his lip and complied.  
  
Derek then guided the head of his cock to Stiles' hole and slowly pushed inside, using one hand to steady himself and the other to draw out any pain he could catch. There were trace amounts of it, too, but thanks to Derek's prepping, Stiles barely felt anything painful.  
  
Instead, he felt an incredible fullness. A drawn out moan escaped his lips, hands pulling his knees farther up to his chest. Once fully inside, Derek bent low over Stiles, head resting on his collarbone, waiting.  
  
"Derek," Stiles whined, "come on! I'm ready!" To prove his point, he purposefully clenched around Derek inside him. "Please--"  
  
Derek's whole body clenched, and he let out a ragged breath, "Stiles. . . just hold on." He focused his attention on their breathing and heartbeats, "You may be ready to go, but I need a moment."  
  
That little tidbit caused Stiles to release on of his legs in surprise. The limb flew down  around Derek's hips and stayed there while Stiles attempted to articulate what he was thinking, "Derek. . . you need to. . . oh my God!" Stiles brought his free hand up to the back of Derek's head, "That is so hot."  
  
Stiles could practically hear the eye roll, "Shut up, Stiles."  
  
"No, I'm serious!" Stiles scratched his nails down Derek's scalp, unconsciously, "As far as I know, I've been a boner killer and not a boner. . . whatever the opposite of that is."  
  
Derek pressed into Stiles fingers, and lifted his head, "As far as you know." Derek repeated. He then slowly pulled out, listening to every hitched breath from Stiles, and slid back in, memorizing every moan.   
  
"Faster!" Stiles demanded, but Derek didn't do anything of the sort. He continued to push in and pull out as slowly as he could stand, lightly brushing over his prostate occasionally. He made sure to take extra time to let Stiles feel the fullness.  
  
Derek even hooked Stiles leg, the only one still up to his chest, over his own shoulder to reach a different angle. The new angle had Stiles' hands scrambling for something to hold on to while he moaned words like, 'shit,' 'fuck,' 'Derek,' and 'yes' until Derek could have sworn the words no longer sounded real.  
  
Once that happened, Derek grunted out, "Hold on to me," and before Stiles could ask why, Derek had wrapped his arms around Stiles' waist and hoisted him up into his lap. He had to awkwardly unfold his legs, but he eventually got Stiles sitting on top of him, and all without pulling out of Stiles.  
  
At first, neither of them moved, Derek was panting, hair wild, eyes hungry, hands lightly grasping Stiles' hips, and a thin sheen of sweat covered his body. Stiles' mouth was open in a silent moan, reveling in the deepness of Derek's cock inside him. Eventually, though, Stiles locked eyes with Derek, and he got an idea.  
  
He wound his arms around Derek's neck, threading his fingers into Derek's hair, and he pressed their lips together in a heated kiss, while moving his legs to be folded underneath his thighs. When Stiles thought Derek was sufficiently distracted, he quickly pressed on his knees upwards. Stiles then slammed back down.  
  
Derek jerked away from the kiss, "F-fuck!" He groaned as Stiles picked up the pace. Soon enough, he was bouncing up and down on Derek's hard cock. Every other word between them was an expletive, and the others were each other's names.  
  
While Stiles rode Derek's cock, his own cock bounced against Derek's stomach every chance it got; pre-cum making a slick path for it to slide against. Every movement against his cock caused his muscles to clench around Derek inside him.  
  
"Stiles--Stiles," Derek warned, "if you keep doing that, I'm gonna. . ."  
  
"Me too." Stiles planted himself all the way down and started to grind down Derek's cock, loving the way it pressed his prostate just right, so he kept swiveling his hips around.  
  
"I-I can't w-wait." Derek grunted.  
  
Stiles' head shot up to meet Derek's eyes, "Do it." Stiles pressed their foreheads together, "Come for me, Derek-- come inside me."  
  
Derek moaned outright just as Stiles clenched around him a few more times. He then could feel himself come, and so could Stiles.  
  
Stiles felt the pulsing of cum shooting into the condom, and he felt the stuttered twitching of Derek's hips, and even though all of that was extremely erotic, it wasn't what finished Stiles off.  
  
Letting one last shot echo through them, Derek breathed out, "Stiles. . ."  
  
That was what caused Stiles to come all over both of their chests and stomachs. His back arched into Derek, toes curled, neck drawn backwards, and his mouth lolling open. Stiles shuddered, "Derek, Derek, Derek. . ."  
  
After they were both calmed down from their highs, Derek pulled out of Stiles slowly, Stiles was too blissed out to care, and drew the condom off. Tying the end, he disposed of it properly, and he got up and got a few rags to clean them off with.  
  
When he got back, Stiles was still pretty motionless, but his eyes were sharp as Derek took care of him. He watched the werewolf slowly go over every inch of his body with the cloth, not moving to make it easier for him. Derek wiped everything away from Stiles' body and was about to do his own when Stiles made a sound.  
  
"You wanna do it?" Derek rose and eyebrow.  
  
Nodding, Stiles moved with kittenish strength, at first, and took the rag from Derek.  He cleaned his own cum off Derek's abs, even tasting it once, which made Derek close his eyes like Stiles was trying to kill him, and made sure that he was spotless.  
  
"Thank you." Stiles said, eyes catching Derek's and conveying how thankful he was. Neither of them had to say what Stiles was really thanking Derek for.  
  
Derek nodded, awestruck, "You're welcome."  
  
Stiles smiled happily, and gave back the dirty rags, and watched as Derek tossed them by the end of the bed. Derek crawled up the bed. He flopped down on his back and closed his eyes.  
  
Silence reigned over them for a good while before Derek asked, "And the other things you came here for?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Was it worth the wait? I certainly hope so!
> 
> Are you ready for the end?
> 
> Hint: You're not.


	20. Stay

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As much as they wish they could stay, that just isn't in the plan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stay by Rihanna featuring Mikky Ekko. Love, love, love this song! This was actually the entire inspiration for this whole fic.
> 
> No amount of apologizing can make up for keeping this from you, but I am still very sorry. I will try to be better with my next fic. As always, thank you for reading, for sticking it out, for putting up with it, and for being generally amazing. You all are truly wonderful.
> 
> An explanation will be at the bottom, because some of you may want one, so don't you worry child.
> 
> Without further ado, the finale.

"I don't like him," Stiles grumbled,  rubbing his temples with the heels of his hands. He was leaning against the big window wall, tired, eyes a little red from crying. The late afternoon sun shining on his back, creating a warm feeling when he preferred the weather to match the somber way he felt.  
  
Stiles had put his clothes back on before he told Derek the other reason for going to him, which caused a lot of yelling, crying, and eventually a phone call. Somewhere between the crying and the phone call, Derek had put some clothes on as well.  
  
"No one likes him," Derek stated. His arms crossed, impatiently waiting while glancing worriedly back at Stiles every chance he got. After a moment he said, "He's here."  
  
The heavy metal door slid open to reveal a very smug looking Peter. "Well now boys, looks like you've finally gotten together. Kudos, and may I be the first to say that it is about time too." Peter coolly descended the steps into the main room, headed straight for the couch, plopped down, propped his feet up, and folded his hands across his stomach.  
  
"Yes, please come in. Put your feet up, make yourself at home, would you like some coffee and your slippers while I'm at it?" Derek's eyes rolled back into his head at the obvious ploy to piss him off.  
  
"I could leave, you know," Peter threatened with a smirk.  
  
Stiles rolled his eyes, "No you couldn't. You're too curious about why we asked you here."  
  
Peter considered this, the nodded, "As perceptive as ever, young Stiles. Tell me again, why won't you accept the bite? It was the perfect opportunity for you to, and you just. . ." he waved his hand dismissively, "blew it all away."  
  
Stiles nearly turned red, "No one wants to be bitten by your creepy, narcissistic, egotistical, psychotic--"  
  
Derek cut him off with a soft, "It's okay," Stiles composed himself and when Derek was sure that Stiles wouldn't lash out again, he turned back to Peter, "We are asking for your help."  
  
The older Hale's ears perked up, "Really now? What is it that my dear nephew cannot do as an alpha?"  
  
"Something that Mom never got to teach me before she died."  
  
Catching on quickly, "Oh ho ho, this is interesting. Now why would you want me to do that? Then it would have all been for naught! You might as well have never done that so extensively, then, if you just wanted me to do this."  
  
"You're not doing it to us," Stiles said tiredly.  
  
  
"Stiles?" Mr. Argent called out, slamming his car door shut, "What are you doing?" He moved to the back seat and began taking out collapsed cardboard boxes.  
  
Stiles scrambled to his feet from where he was sitting on the stoop of the house, "Well, I just needed to talk to you about something. . . Are you guys going somewhere?"  
  
Mr. Argent smiled sadly before replying, "We're heading to France for the rest of the summer, to the house that are ancestors have had for centuries."  
  
"So why do you have so many boxes?" Stiles asked, curious because there were a lot of boxes, and they were huge.  
  
Chris laughed, the corners of his eyes creasing for a moment, "As perceptive as ever, I see. We're moving."  
  
"Oh."  
  
"The house is. . . it's just not the same. . . it's too big for just. . . Allison and I need a change."  
  
"Yeah, no, I get it." Stiles shuffled awkwardly, "Speaking of Allison, is she here?"  
  
Mr. Argent shut the rear passenger door and  glanced up at his daughter's window, "She should be. Do you need to talk to both of us, or are you just needing to speak to me in private about what happened."  
  
"No, no! I need to talk to both of you about something different, but thank you. For, you know, going along with what I told the police."  
  
Stepping up to the door, Chris huffed a little in amusement, "It wasn't exactly a lie, you know."  
  
"I know, but you didn't have to do that, but you did anyway. So thanks."  
  
Mr. Argent nodded, heaving the door open, "Allison!" He called out, "Could you come down here for a minute?" He propped the boxes against the banister and hung up his coat.  
  
Stiles stood close to the door, intently watching Mr. Argent's back. When he still had not heard a sound from Allison's room, he stepped up a few steps and tried again. "Allison! Allison! I need to see you for a--"  
  
There was a four pronged stab on the back of his neck, and then a slight dig in further. Mr. Argent struggled a little against the dark clad arm keeping him restrained. It was only half a minute or so, but Mr. Argent put up a fight before he was released.  
  
Allison came running out of her room just as there was a click of the front door. "Hey Dad! I didn't know you already got back! What are you doing here Stiles?"  
  
Stiles smiled tightly, "I just wanted to see if you wanted to go see a movie later, and I would have called, but I must have dropped my phone in the pool at the party."  
  
"Oh yeah? Well, I wish I could, but we're packing for France, and we're moving, so sorry! Maybe when I get back?" Allison looked uncomfortable, as if she didn't understand why her ex-boyfriend's best friend was asking her to hang out. "Are you okay though? I heard it was a pretty bad car accident."  
  
"I'm still standing, but I'll be fine. Not broken, just a little bent, though."  
  
Allison smiled, "That's good, that's good. Well, I better get back to packing, we've got a lot more to go."  
  
"Yeah, okay, totally! Have fun in France! Do you need help packing?"  
  
Mr. Argent, seeming to snap out of a trance, "No thank you, Stiles. I think we've got it." He gave a curt nod at Allison, who nodded back, awkwardly, "Thank you for the offer though." Chris gestured to the door forcibly, but politely, for Stiles to leave and Allison turned to go back up to her room. Stiles barely had time to catch a glimpse of the almost purple spots drying on the back of her neck through her long hair.  
  
Once outside, Stiles walked around the corner and got in his Jeep. He sighed into the air and turned to the backseat, "Did you do it?"  
  
"You were in there, you saw the evidence." Peter pointed out, "I know you're not this dense."  
  
"No, dumbass. Did you put it back?"  
  
"Yes," Peter huffed, "wiped of all prints, stowed away in a box in the very creepy basement."  
  
"Coming from the guy that came back from the dead." Derek rolled his eyes in the passenger seat.  
  
Peter just shrugged. "So who's next?"  
  
  
Stiles spotted Melissa McCall in an empty room, grabbing a few things that other nurses left behind when transferring a patient. "Hey Stiles, what are you doing here?" She quickly glanced up, grabbed a gauze wrapper, looked back up and froze. "You're supposed to be dead."  
  
"I get that a lot." Peter shrugged apathetically. He slowly moved foreword until Ms. McCall was backed up against the wall, too afraid to move. "Don't worry, this won't hurt too much." And his claws came out, pressing into the back of her neck.  
  
After she was released, she was carefully placed in a chair. While Stiles patted at the back of her neck with a tissue, Peter ducked out of the room. Stiles started to shake her, "Ms. McCall! Hey! Ms. McCall!"  
  
"Wha? Stiles?" She blinked blearily and looked around, "Oh shit! I must have fallen asleep for a moment!" She quickly got up and dashed out of the room, leaving Stiles standing there. However, she quickly came back in, "Oh honey, I'm sorry! Did you need me for something?"  
  
"Yeah, I was just wondering if you remembered when my check up for the accident was? I lost the card somewhere on the way home."  
  
"It's in three weeks, at two o'clock."  
  
"Thanks," he beamed at her, following her back to the door.  
  
"Are you sure you're alright? The medics said that it was a pretty bad wreck."  
  
"I'll be fine! You know me! Resilient as ever!"  
  
She nodded fondly and waved goodbye. Stiles exited the building, meeting up with Peter and Derek in his Jeep.  
  
"Before you ask, yes I got all the nurses that were there." Peter stated, reclining in the back seat.  
  
"You better have," Stiles and Derek said simultaneously. The sun was casting orange and yellow streaks across the sky as it set. They both felt that the night would be a long one.  
  
  
"I've been expecting you boys for some time now," Deaton said, checking over some paperwork on the examination table.  
  
Peter, Derek, and Stiles walked in, "Wha--really?" Stiles asked, surprised.  
  
"Well, it is only natural for you to want it to go away, and considering you have some very influential friends--"  
  
"We're not friends," Stiles muttered, glaring at Peter.  
  
"--I figured that it was only a matter of time before you came to me."  
  
"Well?" Derek implored, "Will you?"  
  
Deaton was quiet for a moment, checking things off on the papers. He finished up with them, walked back to the front, filed them away, and came back in. Pocketing his pen, he replied, "Yes, but I want you to consider the implications of what you are doing, Mr. Stilinski."  
  
Stiles nodded, swallowing hard, "I know what I am doing."  
  
Deaton gave a forced smile, "Yes, I think you do," he said in his vague, half-answer way.  
  
  
Jackson sighed, "You know I don't care, right?"  
  
"Yeah, but I do!" Stiles argued, tired of Jackson fighting his request.  
  
"You will do it." Derek stated flatly.  
  
"Oh yeah?" Jackson cocked an eyebrow, "Says who?"  
  
Derek crossed his arms and stepped in front of Jackson, "Says your alpha."  
  
Jackson obeyed.  
  
  
Isaac was scared at first, but he went easier than Jackson had, "And you're sure it won't hurt?"  
  
"Well," Peter explained off-handedly, "only for a moment, and if it makes you feel any better, I haven't paralyzed anyone yet."  
  
"You know," Isaac looked worried, "it really doesn't."  
  
"But you'll do it?" Stiles asked, hopeful.  
  
Isaac nodded and closed his eyes.  
  
  
Lydia had been asleep for a while by the time they had gotten to her. Her eyes moved in REM sleep.  
  
Stiles gave a small nod to Peter. The older werewolf bent over the bed and carefully inserted his claws into her neck as she faced away from him. He had not trusted Peter to go up to her room alone, not since he manipulated her and nearly killed her.  
  
She only stirred for a moment before Derek could leech the pain away. Once they were finished, Stiles lightly tucked her hair behind her ear before they left without a sound.  
  
Back in the Jeep, Derek gave a contemplating look to Stiles, "You still love her."  
  
He nodded, a little sad, "But not in the way I used to. It's-- she's different now. Still perfect Lydia Martin, but something has changed."  
  
Derek nodded, understanding.  
  
  
Stiles pointed from the Jeep, the night easily concealing his extended arm and finger,  "It was the one with the cigarette, the one leaning against the wall, and the older guy with the beer gut."  
  
"Alright," Peter said tiredly, clearly drained from having done this so many times in one night. "Be back in a bit." He climbed out of the car and literally stalked up to them.  
  
Derek turned to Stiles, "Do you think I should make sure he does it right."  
  
Stiles watched for a bit longer before shaking his head slightly, "Nah, I think by this point he's just doing it for the chance to poke around in peoples' heads."  
  
Derek blew air loudly out of his nose, a half smile on his face. As they watched the officers falling against the wall after Peter finished with them, Derek slowly slid his hand over to Stiles'. At first, Stiles froze up, but he softened up and curled his fingers around Derek's hand as well.  
  
It was a comfortable silence, a comfortable moment between them.  
  
Once Peter was back in the car he reprimanded Stiles, "Your father was asleep at his desk."  
  
"What do you want me to do about it?" Stiles snapped, "It's not my fault that some crazy werewolf decided to set off a whole chain of events putting Beacon Hills into a literal hell hole. Which, in turn, causes lots of dead bodies, thus more work for my dad."  
  
"Point taken."  
  
"Did you do it, though?" Stiles asked, licking his lips nervously.  
  
"Yes," Peter rolled his eyes, irritated, "every single one of them, replaced."  
  
Derek glanced in the mirrors, "And the papers?"  
  
"Like I said, every. Single. One."  
  
  
Peter slid into the back once again, "He was asleep, but I got it done."  
  
"Good," Stiles grunted, exhausted.  
  
There was a smirk in Peter's voice, "He was with a very handsome young man too. Naked."  
  
Stiles smiled, "Get it, Danny."  
  
  
"Hey Scott, can I talk to you for a bit?" Stiles asked, tentatively.  
  
"Yeah man! Let me just exit out of this--" he stopped and turned abruptly, "Why are they here?" He instantly went on the defensive, trying to put himself in front of Stiles.  
  
"Hey, it's okay. Scott! I said it's okay! They came here with me!"  
  
"You're trusting them?!"  
  
"Well, Derek I'm trusting, Peter's here on a favor."  
  
Peter pulled up a hand and waved, "Hi."  
  
"Stiles, I really don't think you should be--"  
  
"I know, but I need you to listen to me okay?" Stiles locked eyes with his best friend, making sure he understood that it was serious, "Okay?"  
  
Scott eventually nodded, "Okay."  
  
Stiles rubbed his palms on his jeans, "You remember when Derek got shot by Kate Argent and he came to the school looking for you? And how he bumped into Jackson when he was inside the school? And . . . stuff happened to Jackson?"  
  
"Yeah, I don't see what this has to do with him being here though."  
  
"Scott, I need you to do the opposite of what happened to Jackson, but I am asking you because you're my best friend and I need you to understand that this is important to me. Scott, do you understand what I'm asking of you?"  
  
"But if I do this, then I won't be able to help you! I don't want to be a bad friend to you, but--"  
  
"Scott, you have never been a bad friend! A frustrating one, a dumbass one, but you have always been a good friend! And I won't need your support after this is all done. I can assure that, right Peter?"  
  
Peter just shrugged, bored.  
  
Scott narrowed his eyes at Derek, "And you're just letting him do this? You're just going to let him do this? You're letting him throw away--"  
  
"I'm not throwing away anything!" Stiles interjected, "I am gaining something back! Something I lost on that vacation that I desperately want back!"  
  
"Are you okay with that?" Scott asked Derek.  
  
Derek ground his teeth for a moment, "Sure."  
  
"That's a lie."  
  
"It's not my choice to make, Scott." Derek sighed.  
  
"Stiles, have you even considered how I feel about this? How Derek feels?"  
  
"I have, and I've decided that Derek doesn't deserve the baggage I carry around right now, which I why I need to do this. Please Scott. I don't want to be that guy. I don't want to keep getting sympathetic looks every time I hang out with any of you. I don't want to keep feeling like I'm made of paper and glass, and this is my way of making sure I don't. Can't you see that?"  
  
Scott clenched his fists, eyes averted from his best friend, "Yeah, I see that, but why him?" He gestured at Peter.  
  
"I asked Derek, but he didn't know how to do it, but he said that Peter did."  
  
"Alright," Scott complied, "I'll do it, even though I won't like it."  
  
"Thank you, Scott."  
  
"I love you, buddy."  
  
"Love you too."  
  
  
Peter rubbed at his eyes, "Who's left?" He stifled a yawn as he buckled his seat belt. It was nearly eleven o'clock at night, so it wasn't any wonder that the three of them were beyond tired.  
  
Derek also suppressed a yawn, "Erica and Boyd." He frowned at his phone, reading a text message, "I told them to meet us at the school."  
  
Stiles nodded and began driving. He was also tired. He could feel his eyes begging to drop closed, but he had to get this done tonight, before he forgot, or would back down. Pulling into a parking spot, he saw Erica's blonde hair bobbing as she walked toward the field. Yelling, Stiles jogged to meet them, "Erica! Boyd! Wait up!"  
  
They turned there heads at the same time. Stiles caught the tail end of what Erica was saying, "--have to get her out. She's Derek's sister!" before everything seemed to go into slow motion.  
  
A large figure stepped out of the shadow of the bleachers. He was tall, muscular, bald, tan, and was definitely not of the all human variety, if the glowing, red eyes were anything to go by.  
  
Derek cried out to Stiles, "Get out of there, Stiles!"  
  
Peter and Derek shifted.  
  
Erica and Boyd were momentarily paralyzed by fear before they started to run. A bare-footed woman blocked their path, here fangs extended. Clearly also a werewolf.  
  
"Stiles! Stay back!" Erica cried as the woman took hold of her neck and injected a clear, gelatinous fluid into her body. She immediately slumped against the woman and fell to the ground.  
  
Boyd had continued running, trying to put as much distance between him and the woman as possible. However, as soon as he heard Erica let out a small, "Boyd," he turned around and charged at the woman, furious.  
  
She also seemed to be an alpha as well because of her red eyes and the ease in which she took Boyd down with. The bare-footed woman injected the same fluid into him.  
  
"Kanima paralyzing toxin," Stiles realized a moment too late as he scrambled backward. What he failed to realize, though, was that as he was watching helplessly as his friends fell, Derek and Peter were fending off the other alpha.  
  
Peter had multiple gashes sewing themselves back together on his back, but was otherwise unscathed. Derek looked brutal. There were scratches, gouges, and blood everywhere.  
  
Stiles shook his head in disbelief and blindly attempted to run into the fray to help, but he was hit in the back of the knee by something, causing him to stumble down into the grass. Shifting around, he saw that the woman, who was rather beautiful, was leering over him, looking smug.  
  
Yanking him up by his shirt collar, one of her arms restrained his arms, and the other held his chest back while that hand curled claws around his throat. "I wouldn't do that, little Derek." she said, voice dark and smooth.  
  
Derek recognized Stiles' rising pulse and immediately stopped fighting the other alpha, "Stiles. . . Don't move!"  
  
"I wasn't planning on it," Stiles replied. He may have been scared, but he wasn't beyond sarcasm.  
  
"Oooh, feisty little one, eh Ennis? I bet I'll like him when it comes time."  
  
"Time?" Peter asked.  
  
"Time for what?" Derek finished, eyes searching for a way out.  
  
"Deucalion will let you know when it's time, but for now. . . ?" She brandished another syringe filled with the toxin. "For now, you'll just have to forget."  
  
Stiles tried to push her away, not wanting the awful, helpless feeling of the toxin to wash over him again, but her strength was too much. The needle stabbed its way into his throat and everything went numb. Once the required amount was in his system, he was released to fall face first onto the grass. All he could do was watch.  
  
Stiles watched as Peter took off running at the first available opportunity. The women easily caught up with him and took him down, injecting him on his descent into the grass. He watched as Derek thrashed against the male werewolf --Ennis, was it?-- thrashed against Ennis while he was pricked with the needle and was sent to the ground.  
  
With his last remaining mobility, Derek had crawled over to Stiles and extended one hand. "I'm sorry," Derek muttered against the grass, but Stiles heard it. "I'm so sorry, Stiles."  
  
Stiles didn't know whether to laugh or cry, "It comes with the territory, big guy."  
  
"I know, but. . ."  
  
"I know, Derek, me too." Before Stiles forgot, he had to tell Derek something, "He D-Derek?"  
  
"Yeah?"  
  
"I heard Erica say something about your sister before all this. . ."  
  
"Me too?"  
  
"Do you have another sister?"  
  
"Cora."  
  
"Oh," Stiles somehow felt sad about that, "How old is she?"  
  
"She should be your age."  
  
"Oh! That Cora!"  
  
"You remember her?"  
  
"I think she kicked a dodge ball into my face in kindergarten."  
  
"Sounds like her." Derek half laughed at the thought.  
  
"I'm sorry, Derek. You don't deserve any of this shit that keeps happening to you."  
  
Derek reminded him, "Neither do you."  
  
Stiles bit out some laughter, "Looks like we're just a pair of shit storms, eh Derek?"  
  
"Yeah," That was the last thing that Derek said to Stiles before Ennis was digging his claws into Derek's neck, drawing out his memories from the last couple of weeks.  
  
The last thing Stiles felt before the prick of claws on his spinal column was Derek's fingers reaching his pinkie finger. That one, tiny moment made him feel the slightest bit better about what he knew would happen. He was just happy that he could have said, at one point, that he, Stiles Stilinski, had awesome sex with Derek Hale. And maybe Derek and him had begun to grow attached to each other. Maybe even romantically.  
  
But it wasn't like it mattered anymore.  
  
  
Stiles woke up to the sound of his dad pounding on his door, "Hey Stiles! Wake up! I've got the late morning shift, so if you want to go to breakfast with me, hurry up and get ready!"  
  
"Mmmm yeah, Dad," Stiles groaned stretching like a cat, feeling an odd muscle twinge in his hips and lower back, "Be right there."  
  
"I'm not waiting for you! And I will get at least ten slices of bacon if you don't go!" His father was very good at persuading him to get up so early on a summer day.  
  
Stiles was up, out of bed, and heading to the bathroom in record time, "You get that bacon and I will steal all of your left shoes and dump them in a river."  
  
"Hurry up, kiddo. Hey, what happened to your neck?"  
  
Stiles checked his neck in the mirror, a memory flittering far off in his mind, "Huh, I don't really know, but it was probably at Jackson's party or at practice."  
  
"Ladies getting handsy with you? Just like your old man," Sheriff Stilinski smirked, heading to his room.  
  
Stiles rolled his eyes, beginning to brush his teeth.  
  
At breakfast, the Sheriff asked, "What are your plans for the rest of summer?"  
  
With a mouth full of pancakes, Stiles asked his own question in response, "What do you mean?"  
  
The elder Stilinski sighed, "You can't just laze around all summer like you have been for the past two weeks, you know. Going to practice does not count in this situation as doing something, before you saying anything."  
  
Stiles frowned, having his only defense shot down, "Well, what do you suggest?"  
  
The sheriff smiled, "I'd thought you would never ask."  
  
"Oh shit."  
  
"Indeed, you'll be working in the office. With me. At least six hours a day. For the rest of the summer."  
  
"Eh, that's not that bad." Stiles shrugged, gulping down some chocolate milk.  
  
"We'll see about that."  
  
Derek Hale walked over at the end of the sheriff's sentence, "May I speak with you for a moment, Stiles?"  
  
"Whaa? Yeah. Dad, do you mind?"  
  
He narrowed his eyes, lifted and eyebrow, but eventually said, "Don't make it too long."  
  
"Okey-dokey," and Stiles slid out of the booth and walked near a patch of empty booths with Derek. Once there, he asked curious, "What's up?"  
  
"Erica and Boyd are missing."  
  
Stiles rolled his eyes, "I know that. Hello, father is the county sheriff? Nosy little shit right here? Any of this ringing a bell?"  
  
"Shut up," Derek glanced over Stiles shoulder at the aforementioned sheriff, "I need you take your father's offer."  
  
"Wait, what? Why?"  
  
"So you can find out all you can about their disappearances, so you can help me get them back." Derek's jaw was set in all seriousness.  
  
"You're serious, aren't you? You want me to take police records, risk my father's job, again, might I add, and help you find the betas that you were in charge of protecting?"  
  
Guiltily, Derek looked away, "Yes, but in return I can help you, if you would like."  
  
"With what? What could you possibly help me with that I can't do myself?"  
  
"Protection."  
  
"Protection?" A waiter came over and wiped down a table to their left so they moved over a few, "Protection from whom?"  
  
Derek leaned in close, lowered his voice, "The alpha pack."  
  
"The alpha what? You mean like an entire pack of alphas? How does that even work?"  
  
Derek shook his head frustrated, "I don't know, but I do know that they have Erica and Boyd." He shifted on his feet, anxious, "Will you do it or not?"  
  
Stiles sighed, rubbing his forehead, "Yeah, I guess so."  
  
"Thank you."  
  
"But the protection has to be for my dad. He still doesn't know about any of this, and I would rather he not be put in danger from it, okay?"  
  
"Done."  
  
"Okay, I'll see what I can find and I'll call you as soon as I have something substantial."  
  
"No, just call me when you find out anything that i don't already know."  
  
"Gotcha," Stiles turned and knocked his left hip right into the hard plastic of the booth, "Oh fuck! Oh fuck that hurt!" He lifted up his shirt to see quarter sized, oval bruises on his hip. "Jesus that hurt."  
  
Derek frowned, "How'd you get those?" His voice seemed oddly strained and a little sad.  
  
The way that Derek said it, Stiles felt. . . something stir in his chest. He skimmed his fingers over the purpled skin, "I probably got them from practice."  
  
Derek nodded, "Don't forget to call."  
  
"Roger that," and they both walked back to other side of the restaurant. Stiles slid back into the booth and watched as Derek went further in and slid into a booth with Isaac glancing over a menu.  
  
"So what did Derek Hale want?"  
  
Stiles immediately put on his best lying face, "He wanted to know if I knew anything about Boyd and Erica." Which was true, but the subsequent story he formed in his head was not.  
  
The sheriff nodded, sipping his coffee calmly, "Why does he want to know?"  
  
"Erica and Isaac are really close, like siblings close, and Derek took Isaac under his wing after his dad died."  
  
"I see," he set his coffee down, "and why didn't Isaac come over here and ask you himself? He is sitting right over there, after all."  
  
"Isaac and I aren't really on good terms, I guess?"  
  
"Why's that?"  
  
Stiles unconsciously glanced over to their table, "He's kind of weaseling his way in between Scott and I." He saw Derek snort and Isaac give a small smirk.  
  
He huffed in laughter, "The amount you two depend on each other is almost unhealthy anyway. You could use a little separation once in a while." Stiles thought he saw a smile on Derek's face for a half moment before he registered what his dad had said.  
  
Stiles looked offended, "Dad, you wound me!"  
  
"I'm just saying, kid." He shrugged and a silence fell over them. Once a significant amount of time had passed, enough for Stiles to finish his pancakes and the rest of his milk, the sheriff brought up the previous subject again, "So? What do you say? Do you want to start today at noon or tomorrow at nine in the morning?"  
  
Stiles glanced over to where Derek and Isaac sat, obviously listening, "Today is as good a day as any."  
  
  
Stiles' ears were still ringing from the volume that Scott's voice could achieve after being burned with a blow torch. He blinked several times and took a finger to his ear. Scott was slumped over, passed out from the pain he experienced.  
  
"Thank you," he heard Derek say.  
  
"Wha? Oh, no problem. Scott was never a big fan of pain, but he sure is tough little guy."  
  
"Not for that. For helping out with Erica and Boyd during the summer."  
  
"Oh that? Sure. I'm sorry I couldn't be of better help and after the middle of July, I wasn't any help because things suddenly got busy. Who knew that tourists actually come to Beacon Hills? I didn't! And they sure love to get drunk, creating more filing for me."  
  
Derek smiled a bit, "I bet," he crossed his arms, in a self-conscious kind of way, "But seriously, thank you."  
  
"Any time, big guy, any time."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading this crazy brain child o' mine! You are wonderful! And now, that explanation I promised.
> 
> Why put it the summer before 3A? Because that was a whole playground of unexplained activity and I wanted to play.
> 
> Why have two versions of the same story? It was an experiment. To see which one got more traffic, kudos, hits, bookmarks, and comments. It was to see if people liked the same-sex pairing over the opposite-sex pairing or vice versa. Also, I thought it would be a nice gesture to provide a fic that had Girl!Stiles in the same situations as the Guy!Stiles. It was interesting seeing the results.
> 
> Why take all their memories away? Doesn't that negate the purpose of the entire fic? Possibly, but I wanted to show a non-lovey dovey, non sex all the time, non they end up married 5ever with babies Sterek story that stayed as true as I could to the characters and also ripped your little hearts out. Because what's more painful than having the start of relationship become something so good, evolving from trust, being brutally torn from you hands to show two characters' pain that will never cease. Basically, I wanted the story to both start and end in unforgiving agony, because it wasn't a happy story to begin with, so why should it end happy?
> 
> What happened to Gerard? Why didn't he get his just desserts? I'm leaving that all up to Jeff Davis in canon storytelling. I trust that Jeff Davis will deliver a horrendous ending for that fucktwat Gerard, and I don't want to take that fun away from me or him. I want to see, physically see, that character suffer.
> 
> Why did it take you so long to get the last chapter up? College man. It's a giant trap. It sucks out your soul, happiness, life, and the money right out of your bank account. And I have this thing, that when I did have time to write, I really feel awkward writing this caliber of fanfiction, with nudity, sex, rape, violence, and gore, in the presence of other people. And people are EVERYWHERE around school and the dorms. Also, I would rather have you wait for a chapter that I deem worthy than a piece of shit just to have it done with. I hope you feel the same, but if not, that's cool too!
> 
> If you have any other questions, please do not hesitate to ask!
> 
> Thank you for your time. Happy New Year everyone!
> 
> P.S. I made a mixtape for this series! All the songs from the titles in one place! Go here: http://8tracks.com/mkaycopland/midnight-run-give-me-a-reason-not-broken-just-bent
> 
> <3 you all! (｡♥‿♥｡)

**Author's Note:**

> Not Broken Just Bent and Give Me A Reason are SIMILAR, not the same, but in one Stiles is male and the other Stiles is female. They are both a part of Midnight Run.


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